there’s no smoking gun, but I’m shot

when the sick is sunk
when the suck is soft
when you’re licked and the lift
and the luck is lost
when the sins sink in
when the slink ain’t slick
when low light’s left
little’s long to list
our troubles shout
our travails trick trots
our rickshaw’s wheels
sawed off and rot
oh, there’s no smoking gun,
but I’m shot, I’m shot
no, there’s not smoking gun
but I’m shot
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