An Ode to Bounty Hunters or A Nimrod's Piece?

If you're like me, about five feet seven inches and a buck forty, then you probably have the utmost respect and admiration for bounty hunters. For a reasonable price, these men, women, and aliens risk their lives day in and day out in order to rid the world of the slime of humanity. And in their honor, I give you:

An Ode to Bounty Hunters

Bounty hunters catch criminals.
It's a difficult task.
For monetary reward.
That's all that they ask.

There's robots and monsters.
Humans hunt too.
For all you Bounty Hunters.
This one's for you.

We have hunters named Bossk.
And hunters named Dog.
Some travel in space ships.
While others ride hogs.

Some hunters wear helmets.
And are usually bold.
And who could forget, the hunter named Fett.
Who put Captain Solo in the cargo hold.

Now these guys are good.
They get the job done.
But there's still another hunter.
Who's my number one.

To find an outlaw.
It's an outlaw one calls.
To his friends he's called Lenny.
But to you, it's Leonard Smalls.

He rides on a Harley.
On his belt, an infant's shoe.
To be hard on the little things.
He sports a shotgun or two.

Finds babies on occasion.
So if you're in a rut.
He'll track those who took him.
And also kick their butt.

But heed this warning.
Don't stiff on the bill.
Because if you don't pay up.
The market sure will.

If there's one thing to learn.
From the epitome of sin.
It's when you crush white trash with a bear hug.
Watch for the grenade pin.

So thank you to those.
You heroes unsung.
For finding the fugitives.
With only a gun.

Vaya con Dios.