Temper, temper little man
At five they would say
Your anger will surely get you
In trouble on some hot future day
But, alas, my ears did not hear
And I drew my revolver gun
The convenience store owner thought he was faster
Or that I would give up and run
But he judged me wrong like all the others
And never gave me a second chance
I shot, he died
For me there would be no summer dance
