Old Betsy is my shotgun and she’s the reason why I don’t keep my money in a bank.
When people try to steal my money, they learn that Old Betsy isn’t filled with blanks.
People break into my house but they end up not leaving.
Because of Old Betsy, the damn thieves stop breathing.
The crooks think they’re intelligent, they think they’re pretty sharp.
But thanks to Old Betsy, a lot of them wind up playing harps.
A lot of people have tried to steal my money but they failed.
If you try to rob me, you’ll get a taste of Old Betsy as well.
This is a fictional poem.