Self-proclaimed vigilante patrolling our streets, protecting our neighbors, self-trained on the beat. His head’s on a swivel. He’s always alert. His god given duty, that no one get hurt by the evil among us, gangbangers and thugs; like this punk in a hoodie, who’s probably on drugs. What is he up to? He doesn’t belong in this part of town, I best tag along. Keep your fucking guns. Maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll get to shoot someone. Live your semi-automatic dreams, high-capacity magazines. Yeah, keep your fucking guns. The floorboards are creaking. It’s a quarter to two. You think you hear someone speaking. You know what you’ve gotta do. Your turn down the hallway, shotgun in hand. A dark figure starts running, it’s just like you planned. This trespasser’s dead meat. Home invaders are scum. Except this dead motherfucker looks a lot like your son. Bring your glock to the movies. Sit way up in the back. Celebrate open carry unless you’re Muslim or black. Let’s arm all the teachers. Invest in our schools ‘cuz when you’re armed to the teeth, you can write your own rules. There’s nothing to fear, no cause for concern. Things are different here. This ain’t Rome, we won’t burn. As long as we’ve got good guys with guns we can rest ‘cuz everybody’s Clint Eastwood in the new Wild West. It’s a new Wild West.