Crazy Cowboy Shoots a Dartboard

Hi! Welcome to my channel. All songs here are a collaboration between my subconscious, my conscious, and two types of AI. In short, they are dream songs. I've kept dream journals since 2002. I use ChatGPT to select the dreams and create genre prompts. I edit the lyrics and genres myself to get things right and I use Suno to make the songs. I've created about 20-30 songs per year of dream journaling. I'll slowly be adding them here. I hope you enjoy!

Lyrics:

[Intro: dusty slide guitar + shuffling snare]

Restaurant hum, neon buzzing,
forks clinking like nervous teeth.

[Verse 1: steady outlaw shuffle]

We’re sitting at a table
minding our respectable lives,
when an old cowboy limps on in
with that look that stops a hive.
He’s got a pistol the size of a lunchbox,
bullets big as bocce jacks,
and before the room can take one breath
he fires straight into the dartboard’s back.

The whole place freezes—
even the jukebox chokes its chords.
Cowboy holsters up real casual
like he’s just rearranging décor.

[Chorus: ragged, rowdy, communal]

Crazy cowboy shoots a dartboard,
buys the whole damn house a beer.
I don’t like the taste, but brother—
this ain’t the night to disagree.
When a man with a cannon chooses kindness,
you just raise the glass he hands ya.
’Cause the safest drink in the West tonight
is whatever he commands ya.

[Verse 2: storytelling, wry humor]

Guy at the table leans toward the waitress,
asks if there’s a mixed drink cheaper,
something we could swap in secretly—
she says, “Nope, nothing’s deeper.”
He sighs into his empty glass,
dreams of cocktails he’ll never meet,
but the cowboy’s grin keeps growing
like a sunset made of heat.

I don’t like beer either,
never claimed to be the type—
but I’m not about to argue
with a man whose bullets match his stride.

[Chorus: fuller band, stomping]

Crazy cowboy shoots a dartboard,
orders courage by the round.
The bartender pours compliance,
’cause no one wants to hit the ground.
If hospitality’s a caliber,
his is something fierce and fine.
So I toast to the law of survival:
drink the beer and toe the line.

[Bridge: low, tense, spoken-sung]

He tips his hat,
says, “Boys, tonight’s on me.”
Nobody breathes the word “no”—
we just clink like we all agree.
Danger wears a denim smile,
mercy wears a gun—
and every pint he passes out
feels like living to see the sun.

[Final Chorus: triumphant, dusty, absurd]

Crazy cowboy shoots a dartboard,
turns the room into a prayer.
We drink up what he gives us,
’cause the alternative ain’t fair.
I swallow down the bitterness,
like a man who loves his life—
for tonight the beer tastes glorious,
and survival tastes like ice.

[Outro: slide guitar bends, boots on wood]

In the glow of the dartboard crater,
we toast the man who made it.