Five Hunnerd Dollars and a Pump Shotgun by Dennis Dezendorf
It's all a tale of living, of what a man can be. I'll pass it on from my life, so maybe you can see. There's very few things that can't get done With five hunnerd dollars and a pump shotgun.
It's been passed on to me, from father to the kid. Sometimes you have to stand tall, sometimes you best be hid. But a man can always stand tall, he never has to run With five hunnerd dollars and a pump shotgun.
There's times when life is fearful, there's times that aren't so good. When a man does what he has to, when he does just what he should. But he can keep his house warm, his place there in the sun With five hunnerd dollars and a pump shotgun.
One night the prisoners broke out, a few had rushed the gate. And Daddy heard that they were coming, heading down the interstate. But they didn't stop at our house, they continued on the run Cause Dad was on the front porch with a pump shotgun.
Sometimes my Dad worked overtime, sometimes from out of state My Momma didn't worry when the old man got in late She knew where Daddy kept them, could grab them on the run She had five hunnerd dollars and a pump shotgun.
It didn't matter what the trouble, didn't matter what the cause, If a kid got sick or the roof blew off, it didn't give her pause. If a wolf got in the chickens, just trying to have some fun, Mom would greet him warmly with a pump shotgun.
And when I started my house, with a baby on the way Dad came by one evening, said what he had to say "Remember all your lessons, and do what must be done. Here's five hunnerd dollars and a pump shotgun."
I think I heard something like that before.
Grandpa’s Lesson
Pappy took to drinkin’ back when I was barely three.
Ma got pretty quiet. She was frettin’, you could see.
So I was sent to Grandpa and he raised me up real good.
He taught me what I oughta and he taught me what I should.
I learned a heap ‘o lessons from the yarns he liked to tell.
There’s one I won’t forget because I learned it ‘speshly well.
“There jist ain’t many folk who live a peaceful, carefree life.
Along with all the good times there’ll be lotsa grief and strife.
But ain’t many troubles that a man cain’t fix
With seven hundred dollars and a thirty ought six.”
Grandpa courted Grandma near the town of old Cheyenne.
Her daddy was cantankerous - a very greedy man.
He wouldn’t give permission for a fancy wedding day
‘Til grandpa paid a dowry—biggest ever people say.
Her daddy softened up when Grandpa said that he could fix
Him up with seven hundred dollars and a thirty ought six.
Grandpa herded cattle down around Jalisco way.
Ended up behind some iron bars one dusty day.
Seems the local jefe craved my Grandpa’s pinto mare.
Grandpa wouldn’t sell her so he lit on out of there.
Didn’t take much doin’ ‘cept a couple special tricks
plus seven hundred dollars and his thirty ought six.
Then there was that Faro game near San Francisco say.
Grandpa’s cards was smokin’ hot and he took all one day.
He woke up nearly naked in a ditch next early morn’.
With nothin’ but his flannel shirt, and it was ripped and torn.
Those others were professionals and they don’t play for kicks.
He lost seven hundred dollars and his thirty ought six.
He begged some woolen trousers off the local storekeep there
Who loaned him both a pony and a rifle on a dare.
He caught those thievin’ cardsharks at another Faro game.
He got back all his property and also his good name.
He left one bleedin’ badly and another mostly lame.
My grandpa’s trusty rifle shoots just where you choose to aim.
Grandpa’s slowin’ down a bit and just the other night
He handed me his rifle and a box sealed up real tight.
He fixed me with them pale grey eyes and this is what he said,
“You’re awful young but steady too and I will soon be dead.
I’ll bet this here old rifle and this honest money too
Will come in mighty handy just as readily for you.
There jist ain’t many folk who lead a carefree, peaceful life.
Along with times of happiness, there’s always woe and strife.
But ... aint many troubles that a man cain’t fix
with seven hundred dollars and his thirty ought six.”
Lindy Cooper Wisdom
December, 1995