Contemplate, if you would, the words to this country song by Miranda Lambert.
County road 233, under my feet
Nothin' on this white rock but little ole me
I've got two miles 'til, he makes bail
And if I'm right we're headed straight for hell
Chorus:
I'm goin' home, gonna load my shotgun
Wait by the door and light a cigarette
If he wants a fight well now he's got one
And he ain't seen me crazy yet
He slapped my face and he shook me like a rag doll
Don't that sound like a real man
I'm going to show him what a little girls are made of
Gunpowder and lead
It's half past ten, another six pack in
And I can feel the rumble like a cold black wind
He pulls in the drive, the gravel flies
He don't know what's waiting here this time
(Repeat Chorus)
His fist is big but my gun's bigger
He'll find out when I pull the trigger
Looking at the jail roster, I can see a little story like that, only it didn't turn out nearly so well for the victim involved. The "turnaround time" from one (alleged) domestic incident to (what might be) another was just as quick, however...
