Griffin Driskell

Two Shots in Eagle's Landing EP

Eagle's Landing

Written by Griffin Driskell

If America’s an eagle,
Than listen, where’s her nest?
I’ve looked all through the Appalachians.
Sent me out here west.

I travelled through the desert,
Through the snow and pine.
The plains seemed plain to me,
But those rivers were divine.

Is America’s nest
Surrounded by slaughtered snakes?
All threats to freedom bleed,
But puffed up chests still fake.

If the looming threat from down south,
Down to Mexico,
Kills another Texas town.
They’ll learn Rio Rojo.

Sangre tambien.
Y puercos muertos.
Necesitan entender
Tengan cuidado.

This here town
Broken Spanish may be spoke,
But the eagle landed here,
And we’re saluting to James Polk.

Go back!
Go back home!
You’re not wanted here.
The sun with bleach your bones.

This is not a town
To test the will of its folks.
It’s not a perfect place,
But sure as hell it ain’t broke.

One night,
In Eagle’s Landing,
Some bastard got drunk.
That’s where this all begins.

Through this tale
You’ll hear the loss of a son,
A poor preacher,
And a father overrun

With guilt,
Because of temptations,
Pretty ole gals,
And the annex to this fine nation.

Appearances from God are made,
The rancher and hero,
The drunken bastard has a tale,
and even the devil.

So sit tight and listen
To this story never told.
It played in ‘49.
You won’t predict how it unfolds.

Two shots were fired
In Eagle’s Landing
Then another loud band,
Then the horn or a train.

The Girl By My Side

Written by Griffin Driskell

She spins around six times
And then she hits the floor,
Faster than tequila,
And then two shots downed more.
She's quick as a whip,
But gets slowed down when she's hot.
She's a fine 38,
And she'll never get got.

She's as cold as ice,
And meaner than a dog.
Blows more smoke
Than a steamship in the fog.
She's just five-five,
But she puts up a damn fight.
She's a fine 38.
Beware of her bite.

She loves to hold my hand,
But makes it clear when she mad.
She hollers damn loud
Make your ears ring bad.
She's got sight like a hawk,
And nothing ever slips.
She's a fine 38,
And she's resting on my hip.

The Preacher

Written by Griffin Driskell

He wakes up every day
And then heads into town.
Passes round the plate,
But he ends up on the ground.

He takes all their money
And invests it as their tithe.
He’s just a nice guy.
He’s just doing right.

He woke up
And then woke up his wife.
Went and kissed his daughter
And then left to preach life.

He’s a hard working man,
Works directly for the Lord.
Never committed a sin,
But he’s now on the floor.

That night,
When his supper grows cold,
His wife begins to worry,
As her husbands getting old.

Started lose track
Of his thoughts and his speech.
She knew it was his duty,
So she still let him preach.

But the issue that night
Was not his feeble mind.
Some drunken bastard
Had made him next in line

For the pearly gates.

He had woken up
For his last day.
If his son had known that,
He’d had something to say.
They lived together,
But he never knew him.
Son was a quiet boy,
In the background blended in.

His father was beloved
By the whole of the town.
But in his own offspring,
Love could not be found.

That goddamned bastard
That went pew-pew in the pews,
Left a boy, girl, and mom there
Talking to the news.

His wife,
Cried tears like Genesis,
Flowing ever steady,
Even spraying mist.

Spitting image of her dad,
Shook fists at press,
Looking pissed and mad.

But his son,
Had no words about him.
Took questions,
But they never sank in.

The church in northwest Texas
Was the saddest of them all,
But they knew their blessed pastor
Would loudly be called

At the pearly gates.

The Temptress

Written by Griffin Driskell

Some call it whiskey.
Some call her miss.
Some say pour me another one.
Others reminisce.

It sees everything.
It taunts everyone.
Everybody has a

But that night,

In the bar,

The shame, the lies, the guilt
Watched a man with a star
Jump up!

And then he grabbed his gun.
Headed out the door
And it was sure to be no fun.

He heard another bang
And knew exactly what to do.
He sprinted really fast,
Tripping over his own boots.

He ran to the church,
But he wasn’t in time.
He saw the Man of God

Laying down in a line
Of blood.

But then,

He saw the drunken bastard
Laughing with a grin,
So he,
Too drunken, in his state,
Lifted up the gun
And pointed at his face
And shot.

And missed.

For he was a good shot,
But those other shots he did.

He shouldn’t be drinking
When he is the law,
But the liquor tasted good,
And the scotch always calmed.

That night,
Was the sheriffs last drink.
The tragic death of his son
Would always make him think.

He put down the bottle
That damned day.
And he never picked it up again.
Hell no, no way!

The Hero

Written by Griffin Driskell

He was just a ranch hand,
Dirt , sweat and sun tanned.
Folks misunderstand,
The courage that it took,
The fear that he faced,
In God’s wasteland.

Picking crops, as he kneeled,
Heard a young woman squeal.
Shots on a battlefield,
A man sprinted fast.
Smoke choked out his mouth,
A gun had been revealed.

Our hero he was feeling scared.
The man running seemed impaired.
“Stop now!” he declared.
The bastard didn’t stop,
Hopped the fence by the church.
The killer would not be spared.

The ranch hand ran real fast.
The sky now was overcast.
He caught the man at long last.
The drunkard slid down,
Slipped out of his coat.
The town would not be harassed.

The rancher lifted up his gun,
pointed the barrel to the sun,
Shot rounds one by one.
Six shots full of lead,
Everything his flesh.
The bastard now he was done.

Sheriff came out the back,
Saw the man dressed in black,
Grateful for the payback.
He felt depressed about his son,
If he hadn’t stopped to drink,
Could he have stopped the attack?
Our hero had no words to say,
But the sheriff thanked him anyway.
The ladies thanks they conveyed.
They grabbed the man by the cheeks,
And covered him up in lips,
But he just wanted to pray.

The man dropped to his knees,
Pled with God “forgive me please.”
He felt a fresh and foreign breeze.
The man knew the sign,
Knew it was sure to be the Lord.
And his heart began to ease.


Listen what I have to say,
And then you can go away.
The rancher may have saved the day.
He knew killing was a sin,
But had God forgiven him?
A debt he still felt he should repay.

The rancher raised up his gun.
The chamber still contained one.
He knew he soon would be done.
He put the metal to his lips,
Tasted the smoky taste of death.
His last thoughts were of his mom.

The End

Written by Griffin Driskell

Well if you’re listening,
I hope I told this story well,
And you better head home,
After this tale straight outta hell.
I got one more to introduce,
Another person,
And then I promise there are no more
That this is The End.

I’ve been rude.
I haven’t introduced myself.
I lived in Eagle’s Landing,
And I knew the bastard well.
I told you a story
Bout the man dressed all in black.
It haunts the preacher’s family,
Regular insomniacs.

But let me be clear,
He had no choice in the act.
I grabbed the bastards hand,
And made that bottle tip on back.
I told you
This was a tale straight outta hell.
Allow me to be introduced,
Please call me the devil.


That night,
I woke the poor bastard up.
Made him get outta bed,
It was time to worship.
We headed to the church,
But did not walk right through the door.
We lagged a little back
And had ourselves a little pour.

I stoked the flames of fury,
Blew red embers of enrage.
Poked and prodded open wounds,
And shook the monster’s cage.
I revealed righteously the preacher
Was not a well mannered man.
I watched the kettle boil,
And marvelled my master plan.

After forty-four shots flared
Fire from within,
The bastard busted open the doors.
Ladies shrieked to high heaven.
The preacher poised in place
Prayed a placid pure thought,
But no divine disruption could
Disturb the devil’s plot.
He aimed and shot.

No divine disruption could
Disturb the devil’s plot.
He aimed and shot.