Die Sattlerei

Als ich an Bord des Königlichen Schiffs »Beagle« als Naturforscher Südamerika erreichte, ward ich überrascht von der Wahrnehmung gewisser Thatsachen in der Vertheilung der Bewohner und in den geologischen Beziehungen zwischen der jetzigen und der früheren Bevölkerung dieses Welttheils.

Ich bin der Beschwerde-Adair!

Whats your Problem? 3..2..1..Keins

Jeden Morgen um 9 Uhr pünktlich im Büro: Shahins WebWorld

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

L. Catilina, nobili genere natus, fuit magna vi et animi et corporis, sed ingenio malo pravoque. Huic ab adulescentia bella intestina, caedes, rapinae, discordia civilis grata fuere ibique iuventutem suam exercuit.

You've read the story of Jesse James--
Of how he lived and died;
If you're still in need
Of something to read
Here's the story of Xxxxxx and Yyyyy.

Now Xxxxxx and Yyyyy are the Barrow gang.
I'm sure you all have read
How they rob and steal
And those who squeal
Are usually found dying or dead.

There's lots of untruths to these write-ups;
They're not so ruthless as that;
Their nature is raw;
They hate the law--
The stool pigeons, spotters, and rats.

They call them cold-blooded killers;
They say they are heartless and mean;
But I say this with pride,
That I once knew Yyyyy
When he was honest and upright and clean.

But the laws fooled around,
Kept taking him down
And locking him up in a cell,
Till he said to me,
"I'll never be free,
So I'll meet a few of them in hell."

The road was so dimly lighted;
There were no highway signs to guide;
But they made up their minds
If all roads were blind,
They wouldn't give up till they died.

The road gets dimmer and dimmer;
Sometimes you can hardly see;
But it's fight, man to man,
And do all you can,
For they know they can never be free.

From heart-break some people have suffered;
From weariness some people have died;
But take it all in all,
Our troubles are small
Till we get like Xxxxxx and Yyyyy.

If a policeman is killed in Dallas,
And they have no clue or guide;
If they can't find a fiend,
They just wipe their slate clean
And hang it on Xxxxxx and Yyyyy.

There's two crimes committed in America
Not accredited to the Barrow mob;
They had no hand
In the kidnap demand,
Nor the Kansas City Depot job.

A newsboy once said to his buddy:
"I wish old Yyyyy would get jumped;
In these awful hard times
We'd make a few dimes
If five or six cops would get bumped."

The police haven't got the report yet,
But Yyyyy called me up today;
He said, "Don't start any fights--
We aren't working nights--
We're joining the NRA."

From Irving to West Dallas viaduct
Is known as the Great Divide,
Where the women are kin,
And the men are men,
And they won't "stool" on Xxxxxx and Yyyyy.

If they try to act like citizens
And rent them a nice little flat,
About the third night
They're invited to fight
By a sub-gun's rat-tat-tat.

They don't think they're too smart or desperate,
They know that the law always wins;
They've been shot at before,
But they do not ignore
That death is the wages of sin.

Some day they'll go down together;
They'll bury them side by side;
To few it'll be grief--
To the law a relief--
But it's death for Xxxxxx and Yyyyy.

Stephen Roche hat geschrieben:Damit bist Du hier, im Filmthread und im Literaturthread dran.

Wir befinden uns im Jahre 50 v.Chr. [...]