Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
12 gauges were perfect for these kind of jobs because they were intimidating, they were big,
you know, rather than just a handgun. I would kick down these doors and put the gun to their head,
and I'm just like, look, if you don't give me my money, then I'm gonna hurt you. A lot of times,
I didn't even need the money. I did it because it just gave me this horrific feeling. I was addicted.
Shooters might get your funeral shot, so choose wise who you keep within your circle of trust.
Tuck the swammy in the gut, Tommy, hand me your blood. Speed forth like Z -York in the green orb.
Swing swords, Kareem towards enemy hordes. Tear the face off my enemy's corpse. Mob through,
heavily armed, the cause with these heavy metal songs that's bars. Standing on a cliff,
harnessing the source of the orb. Past the banana clip, architects of torture and war.
Eye patches on crisis actors. Unrecognizable accents on ISIS captains. Practice survival tactics.
Cut around your face. Rip your scalp, yank down. Rip your face off.
And they put a mirror in front of you so you can get a good look at yourself.
Bad hombres, hombres. They cut your dick and your balls off. Bad. Medina Arafat returned to
the martyr's dream. My squad gleams like it's over in the arms of fiends. Custody,
cook the whole corpse into the barren clean. Magazine melt your face away, it's guaranteed.
Roy DeMeyer, what's the butcher from Flatlands? Back of the garbage truck,
we kill for pellets like Pac -Man. Elegant Lou Duva, body parts in the cooler. Got shooters
up in the crib, smell like gauze and hot tuna. Diodorus, the fat tongues in the yeshiva clapping.
Break bread, black rabbi with the heater action. Death leopard, pyromania, I torch and go. Rifle
not for the old khakis or baby Scorpio. Young friend is gone, mortuary drape. Cold pass and
we burn the body raw till it was frosted flakes. Nikki Sixx, the black Corvette from Uncensored.
Stomp your head out by corpse paint like John from Dissection. One of my first acts will be
to get all of the drug lords, all of the bad ones. We have some bad, bad people in this country that
have to go out. We're going to get them out. We're going to secure the border. And once the border
is secured at a later date, we'll make a determination as to the rest. But we have some
operation here and we're going to get them out.
