Lyrics

And they’re lining
Up on the corner…

And they’re lining
Up on the corner…
They fire they fire…
Their bullets…
They fire…
Their bullets
And they’re lining

(What?)
I marched with the breeders upon Manhattan
I march with their leaders and ate their rations
I marched with the breeders upon Manhattan
I torched every building that I could manage

(They’ve got us surrounded)
I bleed like a winner and take no prisoners
I plant car bombs on the police commissioner
Increasingly familiar with blunt force trauma
I juke the Mavic 3’s in my balaklava

The soldier points his gun right in his own direction

And they’re lining
Up on the corner…
They fire…
Their bullets…
They fire…
Their Ricochet…
They fire
Their ricochet ricochet ricochet ricochet
Their bullets
Their ricochet…
Quiverfull…


I marched with breeders upon Long Island
Every sovereign land that we’ve won through violence
I keep my quiverfull and seek new mothers
Kaht and amphetamines to replace my brothers
Happy is the man with no sword in his back and
Humble is the man with no arrows in his back and
Blessed are the men with no swords in their back and
Cursed is the man whose starting to crack and


The soldier points his gun in his own direction

(Eagle cry)
The soldier points his gun right in his own direction
The soldier points his gun right in his own direction

And they’re lining
Up on the corner…
They fire…
Their bullets
They fire their
Bullets at me
They fire their
Bullets at me…