What was his name you don't remember.
It didn't make it to the Times.
Another gay boy in a mean world,
But oh this little boy was mine.

Tried to hold him in my arms, yeah—
Tried to wake him up again.
But he couldn't hear me call him;
Couldn't make his eyes open.

Take out your pistols, faggots—
You know that you don't have to take it.
(take it straight from a guy like that)
Hey take out your pistols, faggots—
You know that somethin' must be done.
(done right now yeah with that gun)

Brooklyn punks was in the Village;
Came to bash a couple queers.
Did barbituates and Quaaludes,
Then they drank a lot of beer.

The cops they finally got there
Yeah they booked 'em right away.
And not one of them was eighteen
And all of them is out today.

Take out your pistols, faggots—
You know that you don't have to take it.
(take it straight from a guy like that)
Take out your pistols, faggots—
You know that somethin' must be done.
(done right now yeah with that gun)

Bought a gun and went to Brooklyn,
And I waited in the street.
Waited till I caught a young punk
Then I blew him off his feet.
Yeah I wasted him in the street.

Take out your pistols, faggots—
You know that you don't have to take it.
(take it straight from a straight like that)
Take out your pistols, faggots—
You know that somethin' must be done.
(done right now yeah with that gun)
(done right now yeah with that gun)
(done right now yeah take out that gun)

Mike Enright, 1979