As a witter, I sometimes get bored with all the modern day unpleasantries around to write about.  And I tend to drift back to other times to fill the void.  So drift back with me now to the 1880s and enjoy...
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From crowded cities to a small border town
I seek the wanted, they must be tracked down.
The men that I hunt are but faces on a poster
A price on their head, a gun in their holster.
Faces that differ are hunted down all the same
And in the end, my Winchester calls their name!
  
--I am the bounty hunter a breed like no other
my methods are cruel, yet bold.
--A living is made at the expense of my brother
for I deal in flesh and gold.

I shall never tend bar nor ride trails with cattle
My living is made from those draped over a saddle.
Through a Dakota snow and the heat of Texas
I will make no mistakes and very few guesses.
My destiny is not of greatness, for I play another game
And should you break the law my friend, 
                             My Winchester will call your name!

--I am the bounty hunter, a breed like no other 
my methods are cruel, yet bold.
--A living is made at the expense of my brother
for I deal in flesh and gold.

Men like cattle can be bought or sold
And I am their dealer, flesh for gold.