I was five and he was six We rode on horses made of sticks He wore black and I wore white He would always win the fight Bang bang, he shot me down Bang bang, I hit the...
I was five and he was six We rode on horses made of sticks He wore black and I wore white He would always win the fight Bang bang, he shot me down Bang bang, I hit the...
I have often told you stories About the way I lived the life of a drifter Waiting for the day When I’d take your hand And sing you songs Then maybe you would say...