I was five and he was six
We rode on horses made of sticks
He wore black and I wore white
He would always win the fight
Bang, bang, he shot me down
Bang, bang, I hit the ground
Bang, bang, that awful sound
Bang, bang, my baby shot me down.
Try to make some sense of it all
But I can see that it makes no sense at all
Is it cool to go to sleep on the floor?
I don't think that I can take any more
Clowns to the left of me
Jokers to the right
Here I am stuck in the middle with you.