| hold up the firing line
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| hold steady on the trigger’s time
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| walk away counting backwards from nine
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| holdin’his breath so to start his own dying
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| time served
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| to the ones that left you here
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| no people here, only names
|
| soon to be put to numbers so it’s one and the same
|
| it’s anyone’s game as long as the fire flickers
|
| the throat stickers, they place their bet
|
| the trouble is that no one’s added it up quite yet
|
| cause when they do, when they do it’ll be a riot and the wire is down
|
| hold up for the fury to sound
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| hold up you head from the ground
|
| or they’ll keep you on it your time’s served
|
| to the one’s that left you here
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| from tower to wall to guard to guard to wall
|
| ever ready for th fire to fall
|
| the confiners haven’t seen the sun since
|
| the lifers let got of their irrelevent innocence
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| but long before a single round was shot
|
| word was spread from block to block to cell block
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| they’re going to take him
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| and make an example of him for the escapees to fear
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| the incoming of the
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| incoming of the gun
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| oncoming of the year
|
| you either die on the inside or trying to get out
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| the choice is yours, the choice is here |