Open-Carried ... with Children.

Capped in America

                                                               

                                                                    Sweet William's.

When I get murdered, losing my face, 

At a firing range, 

Will you still be firing guns as fun and play?

Still belong to the NRA?

If I'd been killed by some enemy

Wouldn't you lock the door?

Once you conceived me, now you bereave me, 

When you're sixty-four.

You'll be older too, 

And if it weren't absurd, 

I could pray for you. 

I could be handy, singing the blues 

But you've fired your gun. 

I've been hit and it's because you fired wide 

Now encoffined, off for a ride, 

Firing a semi, teachin' my boys, 

Who could ask for more?

Once you conceived me, now you bereave me, 

When you're sixty-four.

Oh what a dummy is Papa Brumby  

Never was too bright, if it's not too clear 

He aimed to inspire 

His Children's "Gun Safety",

Ready, Aim, Fire 

Send a postmortem, drop me from view 

with your .22 

Indicate precisely where you mean to spray 

Yours sincerely, blasted away 

Giving no answer, face full of lead 

Dead for evermore 

Once you conceived me, now you bereave me, 

When you're sixty-four.

from Songwriters: LENNON, JOHN / MCCARTNEY, PAUL