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A salloon door flaps back and forth,
flap- backflap- flap- backflap- flap,
it's a windy day, tooooo darn pickin' windy.
Out flies a knife, wedges the wood good.

There's only so much flap a flap can take
thinks SabreshotMat from behind the door,
and dang I throw knives pretty well
this close.

There's ol' RealityG across the table,
just don't tell him his ryhmes can be crimes,
gets a little touchy on the subject,
he's wanted for poetic license
in fifteen states and counting.

SurefireShir is on the loose I've heard,
and could well be near,
someone's reciting Dr Zeus to her horse.
"This horse will stay tied up,
tied up this horse will stay, good boy!"
Yes sir, that's her.

Rapidfire's in the cellar still firing those pistols,
he can't help it, it's a nervous twitch,
breathes - shoots, breathes - shoots,
he killed three people getting off his horse,
it's murder at the bar when he's around,
literally.

Out pings the knife, in walks Surefire,
followed by MissOphelia, she corrects grammar
with a sixshooter, apostrophes this bar's sign,
a silver flick of a trigger,
now, that's a hole lot better.

DocWillowdown enters also,
a man of not a few words, but many many.
So many we had to tie him down
and gag him for his own good,
he still writes pretty well though.

We're all here to meet, drink, chew the fat,
all aces at the table, and who knows later,
there may be a few more folks around like Sugar,
and old, sweet wild west jests to welcome.

This thread has gone manic, it's a good job this isn't Westworld, that's all I can say.