He came from the old Bar Mitzvah spread With a 10-gallon yarmulke on his head He always followed his mother's wishes Even on the range he used two sets of dishes
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The hundred and forty-second fastest gun in the West A hundred and forty-one could draw faster than he But Irving was looking for one forty-three
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Well, finally Irving got three slugs in the belly It was right outside the Frontier Deli He was sittin' there twirlin' his gun around And butterfingers Irving gunned himself down!