Justice is my calling, out West, I felt unaided,
The lawless Territories knew no bounds.
One day I faced a gunman,
Alone, with just a coach gun,
And feared that I may soon be in the ground.
While facing down this scoundrel, I felt a presence near me,
A man in black, with menace in his eyes.
Then six more stood beside him,
The gunman now was troubled,
Bravado in his face, a thin disguise.
The gunman soon in lockup, I strived to raise a jury,
My only volunteer was just a lad.
He took the job as Sheriff,
And with one of the Seven,
Kept order, even though the crowd was mad.
The bench trial was disrupted; I felt a bullet hit me,
My Sheriff down, I thought the end was near.
But two of Seven rallied,
And fought a bitter battle,
And saved my butt again, or so I hear.
A cunning plan was plotted, and folk thought I’d departed,
While Seven men rode out of town to fight.
They caught the troublemaker,
Returned him for a hanging,
To townsfolk who were awed to see their might.
My gratitude presented, I made them all an offer,
And swelled with pride when each one said they’d stay.
They knew their task was complex,
While full of risk and peril,
But still took up the board and buck a day.
These Seven men of honor, stand firm as one for justice,
And outlaws pay the price for threats not heeded.
They keep the peace with fervor,
In land untamed, these men are truly needed.