Don't Take Your Guns to Town (Live from Dublin, Apr. 6, 1999)

A young boy named Billy Joe, restless on the farm
A boy filled with wanderlust, who never really meant no
harm
He changed his clothes and he shined his boots
And he combed his dark hair down

But his mama cried as he walked out:
‘Don’t take your guns to town
Don’t take your guns to town
Don’t take your guns… to town’

He laughed and kissed his mom and said ‘Your Billy Joe
he’s the man
I can shoot as quick, I can shoot as straight, as anybody,
can
But I wouldn’t shoot, without a cause, or gun nobody down’

But she cried again as he rode away:
‘Don’t take your guns to town
Son, leave your guns at home
Don’t take your guns to town’

Well he drank his first strong liquor then to calm his
shaking hands
And he tried, he tried to tell himself at last he had
become a man
But a dusty cowpoke stood at his side, began to laugh
him down

And he heard again his mother’s words:
‘Don’t take your guns to town
Son, leave your guns at home
Don’t take your guns…’

Don’t take your guns….
Don’t take your guns to town
Don’t take your guns….
Don’t take your guns to town

Filled with rage then Billy Joe reached for his gun to
draw
But the stranger drew his gun and fired before he even
saw
As Billy Joe fell to the floor the crowd all gathered
around

And wondered at his final words:
‘Don’t take your guns to town
Son, leave your guns at home
Don’t take your guns to town’