A boy and his gun

Were having some fun

When his dad got home from the army

He took him out back

They shot at his shack

And his dad went back in the morning

They repeated like that

Every year

Every time

A new piece of gear

 

His father was his hero of course

Three tours in Iraq

But more than that

A fourth one he feared

A fourth one to take his dad from his years

 

But he taught him how to respect his guns

And how to shoot and how to have fun

He taught him how to shoot at that shack

Just like his dad had shot in Iraq

 

And then when his parents divorced

And his dad left them

Alone for the course

He had to support his mom

And he said, “I’ll get a gun to protect you mom.”

“I swear.”

 

He struggled as he worked

From store to store

Longing for a weapon

To fight his own wars

But he never got one

He couldn’t afford

Because his mom needed surgery

And there was this girl, who worked at the store…

 

He wanted to provide for them

To control his own ward

Where he’d keep and protect them

And guard from the porch

When they came

He’d pull out his gun

And ward off his ward

To protect his sons

 

But he couldn’t afford one

And so he lost his girl at the store

And a few years later

His mother died too poor

 

His family gone

He now lived alone

Money problems over

He could finally afford

A gun like his father

Had taught him to sport

He’d finally be able

To fight his own wars

 

He got his gun

And he took it back

To where he’d learned to shoot

To shoot like in Iraq

He learned to fire

To care for and clean

His brand new, fully featured AR-15

Collapsible stock and quick magazine release

So he could shoot and protect his streets

And keep on shooting..

 

Modified to repeat repeat repeat

He shot that old shack ’til nothing was left but concrete

 

finally after the deed was done

on that same foundation

where he was cleaning his gun

he thought of his father

and remembered the fun

but his father was gone now

sixteen years weighed a ton

 

he wanted to cry then

but he held back his tears

his father had taught him

“real men don’t cry”

“their fire dries tears”

“they never give up:

they set fire to the world

and enchant the girls with

diamonds and pearls”

 

it was a valuable lesson

he held to its truth

though try

though he might

he cried like a fool

“my father was wrong..”

he thought

“…or might I not be a man?”

 

he stood up and shouldered his tool

to prove

his own truth in this war

to make things like they were before

 

he’d lost his father

and family to (((SJWs)))

who’d taken over his pews

and kept him their tool

he knew what to do

he’d strike at the source

he’d take his country back

and he’d take it by force

he’d stop all the marxists

their ideology

he’d take it all back

with his AR-15

 

and so he marched

with it strapped to his back

ready to shoot it

like he’d been taught by the shack

he took it over to district 67

and marched in the school at 11

 

he shot 7 teachers there dead

and fired 16 more shots

all of which missed

12 ricocheted and tore through the door

where a group of kids hid

twenty and

four

who were shot in cold blood

no way to escape

 

when he saw them lying there he felt

the tears come again

and the lies overcame him

like a bullet to the head