Texas Radio and the Big Beat

I want to tell you 'bout shot gun sports,
I want to tell you 'bout how what you see
Is what you shoot.

I want you to know,
When you sweat on the wood
With your cheek;
You watch the clay.
You watch it break.

I want you to know,
If you shut the fuck up,
You'll know what to do.
It's all in yourself,
It's all what you see.

I want you to know,
From shotgun to pistol,
It's all just the same;
You raise it eye high,
And you'll shoot what you see.

I want you to know,
The crisp acrid pop,
And the thrust to your hand,
Hot brass over shoulder;
What you see has gone down.

I want you to know,
We practice on clay,
On steel,
On paper,
And on deer,
And pray for no day.


I want you to know,
Some days are never
Meant to become,
And shots are never,
Meant to be done.
But there are things,
I hold close to my heart.


I want to tell you 'bout
How I have made ready,
For days not to come,
And clays not yet thrown.
For I will not blink,
For we shoot
What we see.