20/20 Shot You Down

It wasn't long that matinee idols with shiny guns the Indian they would slay.

How happy we would re-enact when Tom Mix would save the damsel in distress.

In the process many lives would be wasted, leaving numbers for us to guess.

In embellishment we'd say, "with his six shooter he killed thirty-nine."

What about you being the Indian for a change I am tired of being shot.

All right I'll be the Indian this time.

In our innocence we have cultivated and tolerated what to us was fun and violence not.

For Christmas we'd ask for pistols like the wholesome Roy Rogers and Gene Autrys.

We were so happy because under the Christmas tree Santa had left us holster and guns.

That morning we couldn't wait to shoot and run and duck bullets from behind trees.

All wanted the white hat nobody wanted to be the bad guy even if he had more guns.

My gun looks real but even though it just shoots water many times I've heard taps.

My gun looks more real than yours, but mine shoots BB's not caps.

My gun is a twenty-two and my Dad is going to show me how to hunt deer.

My gun is at the arcade I've posted big numbers on the screen to cause Rambo to fear.

In this day we don't wait a week for a dose of mass killings we have it right at home.

Our children not only have fun they have better than fantasy, they have virtual reality.

Games record through games how good a killer our children can become in reality.

Columbine and Heritage are only shooting galleries extending from our home.

Now we pause and analyze what went wrong, and in desperation we experiment.

On TV we show in synopsis what society has brought to fruition in acts not in comments.

Children instructed by an officer to leave guns alone soon their parents would let down.

In a play box they'd find real guns, disregard fresh advice 20/20 shot you down.

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