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(To tune of “My Guy,” by Smokey Robinson, as recorded by Motown artist Mary Wells (1964))

Nothing you can say
Could make me give away
My gun.
Nothing you could try,
However many die,
Love my gun.
Guns are everywhere
They’re as common as a toaster.
Everywhere I go with my gun
In my holster.
I’ll tell you where I stand,
What’s always in my hand?
My gun.

No mothering state
Will convince me to hate
My gun.
No president-elect
Could make me lose respect
For my gun.
I’ll give my wife a gun
On he day that we marry,
So a baby and a handgun
She can carry.
I’m telling you from the start,
I’m never long apart
From my gun.

Says so in the constitution
I have the right,
I can arm myself,
Armageddon’s in sight.
Buy an automatic weapon,
With a thirty-round clip,
Just another big shot
On an ego trip.

Keep your Brady laws
And keep your claws
Off my gun.
Go around unarmed,
But I feel lucky charmed
With my gun.
I may not have much intellect
But when I’ m toting my Glock
I get respect.
And should I go berserk
I’ll shoot some folks at work
With my gun.

 Lyric © 2012 by Robert S. Steinberg, Esquire
All rights reserved

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