Lately I think about guns
I think I need one
I'm pulling out the stinger
Counted all of my stack
And I cover my tracks
Trigger pulls the finger back
Pry it from my cold dead hands (Twenty paces)
You can't have my gun (You can't have it)
Pry it from my cold dead hands (Twenty paces)
You can't have my gun (You can't have my gun)
(All right) Ohhhhhhh ohhhhhhh ohhohhm
Lately I'm tied to my bed
And the guns in my head
Loaded and excited
Only as loud as you shout
Won't swallow my doubt
Pick an ill and fight it out (Come on)
Pry it from my cold dead hands (Twenty paces)
You can't have my gun (You can't have it)
Pry it from my cold dead hands (Twenty paces)
You can't have my gun (You can't have my gun)
Where do the young break
Pictures from the frames
Throwing glasses and
Hand grenades
Hand grenades
Pry it from my cold dead hands (Twenty paces)
You can't have my gun
Pry it from my cold dead hands (Twenty paces)
You can't have my gun