Pistol Packin' Papa

I'm a pistol packing papa, and when I walk down the street You can hear those mamas shoutin': Don't turn your gun on me! Now girls, I'm just a good guy, and I'm goin' to have my fun And if you don't wanna smell my smoke, don't monkey with my gun! Like a hobo when he's hungry; like a drunk man when he's full I'm a pistol packing papa, I know how to shoot the bull The hold-up men all know me, and they sure leave me be I'm a pistol packin' papa, and I ramble where I please When I have that funny feeling that lorryin' ramblers call I swing aboard some freight train, and I shoot my pistol off Sometimes one shot will do me, sometimes takes four or five Sometimes I shoot all around, before I'm satisfied When you hear my pistol poppin', you better hide yourself some place Cause I ain't made it for stoppin', and I come from a shootin' race My sweatheart understands me, she says I am her big shot I'm her pistol packin' daddy, and I know I've got the drop You can hear my new sport roadster, you can take my hard-boil head But you can't never take from me my silver-mounted gad I'm a pistol packin papa, I'm goin' to have my fun Just fallow me and you will hear the bargain of my gun