Pistol Packin' Papa

I'm a pistol-packin' papa, and when I walk down the streets
You can hear those mamas shouting "don't turn your gun on me"
Now girls, I'm just a good guy and I'm going to have my fun
And if you don't want to 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-packin' papa and I know how to shoot the bull
The whole of men don't hold me and they sure leave me be
I'm a pistol-packin' papa and I ramble where I please

Oh well, I have that funny feeling, that luring ramble's call
I swing aboard of some freight train and I shoot my pistol low
Sometimes one shot will do, near sometimes it takes four or five
And sometimes I shoot all around before I'm satisfied

When you hear my pistol puffin' you better hide yourself someplace
'Cause I ain't made for stoppin' and I come for a shootin' race
My sweetheart understands me, she says I'm her big shot
I'm her pistol-packin' daddy and I know I got to drop

You can hear my Newsport roadster, you can take my Hartford hat
But you can never take from me my silver-mounted gat
I'm a pistol-packin' papa and I'm going to have my fun
Just follow me and you will hear the barking of my gun