# "The Walking Rifleman" by Joe Sledge



## Andy Moynihan (Mar 25, 2008)

The Walking Rifleman
By Joe Sledge

When a man takes his rifle a walkin'
it adds not a bit to his load.
It makes him in fact somewhat lighter,
for he walks as a free man, unbowed. 
When a man takes his rifle a walkin',
he's master of all he can see.
A good man won't abuse the position,
for a master's a fine thing to be.

When a man takes his rifle a walkin',
he'll keep his eye sharp, his wits keen.
That's not just a tart he's escortin'.
No, that lady beside him's a queen.

When a man takes his rifle a walkin',
its condition doesn't matter to me.
He can load it however he chooses
so long as he lives by Rule Three.

When a man takes his rifle a walkin'
and he needs a second shot quick,
he'll be glad of the time spent on homework,
that he mastered reflexive bolt-flick.

When a man takes his rifle a walkin'
and he's hunting, to feed him and his,
well, he's living the way God intended,
and that's just the way that it is.

When a man takes his rifle a walkin',
as some say he should not be allowed,
well, they'd better be saying it softly,
for a man with a rifle is proud.

So if you take your rifle a walkin',
realize what you're saying, my friend.
You're saying that you are a free man
and woe be to him who butts in.

So let's take our rifles a walkin',
with pride - defiance if need.
If we don't want to be the last riflemen
we've got to re-sow freedom's seed.

Yes, let's take our rifles a walkin',
and we'll walk in the light, so they'll see.
And if they come to tell us we cannot,
then we'll water the Liberty Tree.​


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## KenpoTex (Mar 25, 2008)

good stuff.  I like it so much that I posted it a while back  
http://www.martialtalk.com/forum/showthread.php?t=59409


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## sgtmac_46 (Apr 1, 2008)

Andy Moynihan said:


> The Walking Rifleman​
> By Joe Sledge​
> 
> When a man takes his rifle a walkin'​
> ...


  Very nice....I believe it was the late Col. Jeff Cooper that called the rifle 'The queen of personal arms'...and pointed out that no people armed with rifles and the ability to use them can ever be tyrannied.

Reminds me a bit of Rudyard Kipling....



When 'arf of your bullets fly wide in the ditch,
Don't call your Martini a cross-eyed old *****;
She's human as you are -- you treat her as sich,
   An' she'll fight for the young British soldier.
      Fight, fight, fight for the soldier . . .

-Rudyard Kipling 'The Young Britsh Soldier'


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## Deaf Smith (Apr 28, 2008)

*Grandpa's Lesson*​
Grandpa's Lesson
Pappy took to drinkin' back when I was barely three. 
Ma got pretty quiet. She was frettin', you could see. 

So I was sent to Grandpa and he raised me up real good. 
He taught me what I oughta and he taught me what I should. 

I learned a heap 'o lessons from the yarns he liked to tell. 
There's one I won't forget because I learned it 'speshly well. 

"There jist ain't many folk who live a peaceful, carefree life. 
Along with all the good times there'll be lotsa grief and strife. 

But ain't many troubles that a man cain't fix 
With seven hundred dollars and a thirty ought six." 

Grandpa courted Grandma near the town of old Cheyenne. 
Her daddy was cantankerous - a very greedy man. 

He wouldn't give permission for a fancy wedding day 
'Til grandpa paid a dowry--biggest ever people say. 

Her daddy softened up when Grandpa said that he could fix 
Him up with seven hundred dollars and a thirty ought six. 

Grandpa herded cattle down around Jalisco way. 
Ended up behind some iron bars one dusty day. 

Seems the local jefe craved my Grandpa's pinto mare. 
Grandpa wouldn't sell her so he lit on out of there. 

Didn't take much doin' 'cept a couple special tricks 
plus seven hundred dollars and his thirty ought six. 

Then there was that Faro game near San Francisco say. 
Grandpa's cards was smokin' hot and he took all one day. 

He woke up nearly naked in a ditch next early morn'. 
With nothin' but his flannel shirt, and it was ripped and torn. 

Those others were professionals and they don't play for kicks. 
He lost seven hundred dollars and his thirty ought six. 

He begged some woolen trousers off the local storekeep there 
Who loaned him both a pony and a rifle on a dare. 

He caught those thievin' cardsharks at another Faro game. 
He got back all his property and also his good name. 

He left one bleedin' badly and another mostly lame. 
My grandpa's trusty rifle shoots just where you choose to aim. 

Grandpa's slowin' down a bit and just the other night 
He handed me his rifle and a box sealed up real tight. 


He fixed me with them pale grey eyes and this is what he said, 
"You're awful young but steady too and I will soon be dead. 

I'll bet this here old rifle and this honest money too 
Will come in mighty handy just as readily for you. 

There jist ain't many folk who lead a carefree, peaceful life. 
Along with times of happiness, there's always woe and strife. 

But ... aint many troubles that a man cain't fix 
with seven hundred dollars and his thirty ought six." 

Lindy Cooper Wisdom
December, 1995


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## KenpoTex (Apr 28, 2008)

good stuff, here's a couple more...


_"The blued-steel Colt
The new steel Colt
She runs to stunts erratic
For she's a darn
Tough arm to learn
This Army automatic. 
Yet when you get to know this arm
and how to coax and pet her,
She'll do her duty like a charm
No Gun will serve you better
She'll stick right closely by your side
And as the fight grows hotter
And you are caught in battle's tide--
You'll thank your stars you've got her.

The lusty Colt, The trusty Colt,
The weapon democratic,
Whose vicious might
Makes men one height--
The Army automatic._


and even though this one is about a knife instead of a gun, this fits the theme of the thread:


The Randall Knife (Guy Clark)

My father had a Randall knife
My mother gave it to him
When he went off to WWII
To save us all from ruin
If you've ever held a Randall knife
Then you know my father well
If a better blade was ever made
It was probably forged in hell

My father was a good man
A lawyer by his trade
And only once did I ever see
Him misuse the blade
It almost cut his thumb off
When he took it for a tool
The knife was made for darker things
And you could not bend the rules

He let me take it camping once
On a Boy Scout jamboree
And I broke a half an inch off
Trying to stick it in a tree
I hid it from him for a while
But the knife and he were one
He put it in his bottom drawer
Without a hard word one

There it slept and there it stayed
For twenty some odd years
Sort of like Excalibur
Except waiting for a tear

My father died when I was forty
And I couldn't find a way to cry
Not because I didn't love him
Not because he didn't try
I'd cried for every lesser thing
Whiskey, pain and beauty
But he deserved a better tear
And I was not quite ready

So we took his ashed out to sea
And poured `em off the stern
And threw the roses in the wake
Of everything we'd learned
When we got back to the house
They asked me what I wanted
Not the lawbooks not the watch
I need the things he's haunted

My hand burned for the Randall knife
There in the bottom drawer
And I found a tear for my father's life
And all that it stood for.


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## Andy Moynihan (Apr 29, 2008)

That Was Awesome.


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