Guns

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) Ohhhhhh ohhhhhh 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