| Yeah, he used to shoot it in the air for kicks
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| Promise he had perfect aim, swore that he couldn’t miss
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| Wore it underneath his belt because by law that was his right
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| Besides you never know what type of danger’s hiding in the night
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| He said he’d never use it in a fight, he’d take a punch instead
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| And it made him feel at home, he used to hunt with Grandpa as a kid
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| As time went on he started to think more and more about what he would do
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| If he was home and someone kicked down his door
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| Paranoia kept increasing
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| He kept imagining a tragedy, as if it was inevitable trying to prepare himself
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| For how he’d feel if he ever had to steal a life to save a loved one’s or his
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| own
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| That soul-less piece of metal was the boss in the relationship he bought it to
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| keep him safe
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| But it just made him sick
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| And it wasn’t until the day that he got rid of it that he felt like
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| He was safe, no longer a slave to that piece of shit
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| You can own it but mostly it will own you, yeah
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| You can own it but mostly it will own you, yeah
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| You can own it but mostly it will own you, yeah
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| You can own it but mostly it will own you, yeah
|
| You can own it but mostly it will own you, yeah
|
| You can own it but mostly it will own you, yeah
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| You can own it but mostly it will own you, yeah
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| You can own it but mostly it will own you, no |