The Ballad of the Little Gunslingers

On the dark dark day that they first appeared,
the prairie felt so treacherous and venomous,
that all who saw them greatly feared
life had suddenly become very very dangerous

They were cowboys (and girl) of the oldest kind
They rode that lonely range
And shot a shot as straight as you could find
Yet something about them seemed a little abnormal, a little strange

Perhaps it was the matching cowboy boots
Or maybe the sibling bond that always seemed to thicken
Apparently it was not the fact that the Sheriff and they were in cahoots
I'm guessin' that it was probably the little yellow chicken

Yes indeed, the little one, he chose to ride a chicken
Although folks round here thought he was a bit unconventional
His pace never slacked, but always seemed to quicken
When matching the speed of his siblings who were a bit more...traditional

So into town they came that pleasantly warm dark autumn night
Knocking doors and gathering their huge plunder
Those who saw them willingly gave them what they felt was right
As the trio galloped off whooping up a mighty thunder

The gunslingers were gone almost as quickly as they had arrived
But the townsfolk will never forget the clucking and pecking
Of the little yellow chicken who simply thrived
Because he was being ridden by a little cowboy off trekking

The rebel rousers run amok