I like the smoke to hang in the air
Just where it's supposed to be
I wouldn't be shootin Black Powder, Mon Frer
If I expected to see.
When the Lobsterbacks charged up old Breeds Hill
And the Yanks commenced to rise
Col Prescott’s order rings true still
”...till you see the whites of their eyes!"
Black Powder fills up a Saloon real quick
Some people might not know it
Cowboys just shot through the smoke and prayed
Hollywood just doesn't show it
When the Rebels at Gettyburg marched in their rags
Towards that thin blue line
The cannon smoke hid all but the flags,
red blood, and July sunshine
So if it's all right with you, when I fill both my hands
I hope the wind dies right down
I'm shootin for more than a score my friends
And wind, well it just makes me frown.
