Mr. Shorty
Marty Robbins' gunfighter ballads were the best gun songs. El Paso was his most famous but Big Iron is only a tie for best. Here are the lyrics to Mr. Shorty.
Nobody knew where he came from,
They only knew he came in,
Slowly he walked to the end of the bar,
And he ordered up one slug of gin.
Well, I could see that he wasn’t a large man,
I could tell that he wasn’t too tall,
I judged him to be about five foot three,
And his voice was a soft Texas drawl.
Said he was needin’ some wages,
‘Fore he could ride for the West,
Said he could do most all kind of work,
Said he could ride with the best.
There in his blue eyes was sadness,
That comes from the need of a friend,
And though he tried he still couldn’t hide,
The loneliness there deep within.
Said he would work through the winter,
For thirty a month and his board.
I started to say where he might land a job,
When a fella came in through the door,
And I could tell he was lookin’ for trouble,
By the way that he came stompin’ in,
He told me to leave Shorty there by himself,
Come down and wait on a man.
The eyes of the little man narrowed,
The smile disappeared from his face,
Gone was the friendliness that I had seen,
And a wild look of hate took its place.
But the big one continued to mock him,
And he told me that I’d better go,
Find him a couple of glasses of milk,
Then maybe Shorty would grow.
When the little man spoke there was stillness,
He made sure that everyone heard,
Slowly he stepped away from the bar,
And I still remember these words,
Oh, it’s plain that you’re lookin’ for trouble,
Trouble’s what I try to shun,
If that’s what you want, then that’s what you’ll get,
‘Cause cowboy we’re both packin’ guns.
His hand was already positioned,
His feet wide apart on the floor,
I hadn’t noticed but there on his hip,
Was a short-barreled, bad forty-four,
It was plain he was ready and waitin’,
He leaned a bit forward and said,
When you call me “Shorty†say Mister, my friend,
Maybe you’d rather be dead.
In the room was a terrible silence,
As the big one stepped out on the floor,
All drinkin’ stopped and the tick of the clock,
Said death would wait ten seconds more,
He cursed once or twice in a whisper,
And he said with a snarl on his lips,
Nobody’s mister to me little man,
And he grabbed for the gun on his hip.
But the little man’s hand was like lightnin’,
The bad forty-four was the same,
The forty-four spoke and it sent lead and smoke,
And seventeen inches of flame,
Oh, the big one had never cleared leather,
Beaten before he could start,
A little round hole had appeared on his shirt,
The bullet went clear through his heart.
The little man stood there a moment,
Then holstered the bad forty-four,
It’s always this way, so I never stay,
Slowly he walked out the door,
Nobody knew where he came from,
They won’t forget he came by,
They won’t forget how a forty-four gun,
One night made the difference in size.
As for me I’ll remember the sadness,
Shown in the eyes of the man,
If we meet someday you can bet I will say,
That it’s me, Mr. Shorty, your friend.
