In the dusty streets, where the shadows lie, There's a man who walks, with a cold, steel eye, He's the talk of the town, a legend untold, With a hand on his Colt, and a heart made of gold. They call him the Gunslinger, king of the West, With a steady hand, he outdraws the rest, Don't let his silence fool you, boy, When the showdown comes, he's the real McCoy. He's a man of few words, but his deeds are loud, In a world of chaos, he's the one unbowed, When the law can't stand, and the outlaws reign, He steps into the fray, and brings the pain. They call him the Gunslinger, king of the West, With a steady hand, he outdraws the rest, Don't let his silence fool you, boy, When the showdown comes, he's the real McCoy. With the sun setting low, and the wind in his face, He's the master of time, the keeper of pace, With a flick of his wrist, and a spark in his eye, The villains all fall, and the innocents sigh. They call him the Gunslinger, king of the West, With a steady hand, he outdraws the rest, Don't let his silence fool you, boy, When the showdown comes, he's the real McCoy. So if you find yourself in a lonesome town, Where the law's run dry, and the sun's sinking down, Look for the man with the shadowed brow, The Gunslinger’s here, and justice is now.