THE SON OF IRVING


Frank Gallop
You remember how Irving got three slugs in the belly?
How it happened outside the Frontier Deli?
How he lived by his gun and died by his gun?
Well, no one knew fat Irving had a son, 


Named Seymour.
Tall, slim Seymour.
Tall, slim, excellent-looking Seymour.
Son of the hundred and forty-second fastest gun in the West. 


He had steamy eyes and stood six-foot four.
When he walked in the bar, he filled the door.
He had a gun in one hand, and the folks would stare,
'Cause in his other hand, he had a teddy bear. 


Seymour.
Tall, sissy Seymour.
Tall, excellent-looking, sissy Seymour.
Son of the hundred and forty-second fastest gun in the West. 


Seymour was dressed in boots magenta,
By his mother, Esther, a dance hall yente.
She had one goal, and he never mocked her.
She dreamed he'd marry a lady doctor. 


Seymour.
Momma's boy Seymour.
Excellent-looking, big baby Seymour.
Son of the hundred and forty-second fastest gun in the West. 


One day Seymour rode into town,
Billy the Kid was waitin' to shoot him down.
Seymour disguised himself in a dress and bustle,
And rode out of town as Lillian Russell. 


Seymour.
Side-saddled Seymour.
Tall, really excellent-looking Seymour.
Son of the hundred and forty-second fastest gun in the West. 


But then Seymour made Bad Max a dare.
There stood Seymour, one hand on his gun and one on his teddy bear.
But Bad Max shot Seymour down in the high noon sun.
Stupid Seymour had drawn his teddy, and hugged his gun. 


Seymour.
Mortally wounded Seymour.
Not so excellent-looking Seymour.
Dead, dum-dum Seymour.
Truly, the son of the hundred and forty-second fastest gun in the West.
Really.