Butt No Rifle

It is the capital
 It is the refusal
 It is the realism
 That I'm referred to
 ♪
 I eloped when shit got real
 To a castle on a hill
 With a spur hung off my heel
 But no rifle
 I am kindly as a bit
 On the saddle where I sit
 With a stetson, perfect fit
 But no rifle
 I can show you to the killer
 But I ain't got the instinct
 I am on my cowboy shit with no rifle
 There is memory, forgetting
 And intention, that is it
 I am on my cowboy shit with no rifle
 Time, where does it go to?
 Kills the things it grows to
 Laugh at what we go through
 I submit to love
 Yield to understanding
 Be a flock of doves
 There is no reprimanding
 When submitting to love
 ♪
 I eloped when shit got real
 To a castle on a hill
 With a spur hung off my heel
 But no rifle
 There is memory, forgetting
 And intention, that is it
 I am on my cowboy shit with no rifle
 Yield to understanding
 Be a flock of doves
 There is no reprimanding
 When submitting to love
 Surender to you instinct
 Surender to your gut
 There is no understanding
 I submit to love