Plumes
by Steve Blackwell © December 1992

They call me 2-gun Johnson
Down here in the glades
I fish a little, hunt some birds.
I'm a jack-of-all-trades

Grew up in Flamingo
Down around Cuthbert Lake
With a rifle or a boat
It's a living I must make

I've scouted out some rookeries
Where the snow egrets nest
And after the eggs are hatched
You know their feathers are the best

Feathers for the ladies' hats
Is what they're for I'm told
And at $35 for an ounce of them
You know they're worth their weight in gold
Chorus:
Plumes
Bright explosions of wings
Once I shoot those crazy birds
I can buy all kinds of things

They'll just sit right there
Can you imagine that?
Trying to protect their young
Just feathers in a hat

Said he was a game warden
As his blue eyes glinted sadly
I'm not proud to say this, but
I'm the man who killed Guy Bradley
I'm the man who killed Guy Bradley

I killed him for Plumes
Bright explosions of wings
Once I shoot those crazy birds
I can buy all kinds of things

(Instrumental)

I guess I've known Guy Bradley
Nearly all my life
Sat together in Miss Hattie's school
Carved a desk up with a knife

He played a decent fiddle
With Old Uncle John's String Band
They'd play at Old Man Lyman's Store
Or they'd play right in the sand

But I've got to feed my babies
So I shot without a word
Crumpled in the bottom of his sailing skiff
You know he looked like a bloody bird

He's buried behind a coconut grove
Out there on the East Cape
Sending him to protect them birds
Was a terrible mistake

(Repeat Chorus)
Steve Blackwell
© December 1992

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