I’m A Lucky Son Of A Gun

 

 

I’m A Lucky Son  Of A Gun 

by Paul McCann

 

They kidnapped me 

from off the street

then cuffed my hands 

and cuffed my feet .

I thought to myself , 

here we go ,

this is some 

sinister  hello .

 

Nowhere to go ,

nowhere to run  .

I’m a lucky son of a gun .

 

They put me in 

a cold dark room

it was late 

in the afternoon ,

when they bundled me 

in their car and drove me somewhere not that far .

 

I had no idea what I’d done .

I’m a lucky son of a gun .

 

Interrogated 

and accused ,

illegally held 

and abused . 

Terrorised 

without any cause ,

I hadn’t broken 

any laws .

 

Uncomfortably numb 

and struck dumb , 

I’m a lucky son of a gun .

 

The  loaded gun 

that they had got 

had misfired 

whenever they shot , 

then they  said  

I was free to go , 

but  better they 

forget me not .

 

Now I can  tell 

everyone.

I’m a lucky son of a gun.

 

I went and took  

my hat and coat 

and then I went 

and caught that boat 

to go across 

the deep blue sea  

to a place 

where they can’t find me .

 

Fortune favours 

bravely for some, 

I’m a lucky son of a gun