Homeboy’s got a slow burn heart
Knows wrong from right and doesn’t give a damn any more
The fire’s burnt out in his chest
You know he’s the walking dead
Got a ’45 takedown and he’s prepping for the shakeout
A pained smile doesn’t warm his eyes
But who can tell, you’re just as dead inside
He’s got the skills and he’s building the guile
He’s got a clean rap sheet but just give it a while
He’s tired of living
You know he’s scared of dying
Our shooter’s tired of his sinning but he’s gotta keep on lying
He’s been to the edge
He’s got his head on straight
He’s made up his mind
You know he’s ready to wait
I’m no bowl-cut cultist, I know the game
He’s defending the peace
He’s clearing his names
He’s got a pile of disks and ABS
You never know who’s first but he knows who’s next
(Can’t help but make a list)
He’s a clean cut kid, a real straight shooter
And the three-letter boys figure later than sooner
But he’s staring at the ceiling and he’s biding his time
They’re all staring at the ceiling
They’re biding their time
Know how to make nitro
Know how to toe the line
He’s not enamored by the myth of the gun
He knows how to play the game and he’s ready for the fun.
He runs every day.
His friends know half his names.
He doesn’t like to fight.
He’s not gonna run.