Put me down for one, sir, just one
One shiny, well-oiled American gun
One should be enough — no crazy stuff
Just one efficient, powerful gun

Or maybe two, I guess, ‘cause you never know
Just how a real-life gunfight’s gonna go
And a third one? For the night stand?
For the night-time shit that isn’t planned

Maybe one in a secret compartment in the floor
Fully loaded, sir. I suppose that makes four
And I’ll need one to carry, to conceal
For the out-of-doors fear I always feel

Each one perfect, machined and sound
All of them loaded with powerful rounds
One shiny gun is never gonna be enough
Living in the suburbs is oh so rough