We can break bread or stand and make threats. Man we can grab the cannons, blast and face death. When this is all over you'll have half a face left. For the rest of your life with a limp, you'll take steps. I could end this rhyme right now and save breathe, but I haven't said all I've got to say yet. You ain't a killer you a dog, now just go and play fetch. You a coward and a liar Fido, run off and play dead. The wolves'll ******* find you we don't often stay penned; all the **** you've been talking will see you pay debts. You won't find time to scream "mama this is the end!" When I get my hands on you and open your head.