| I need a gun to keep myself from harm
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| The poor people are burning in the sun
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| But they ain’t got a chance, they ain’t got a chance
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| I need a gun 'cos all I do is dance
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| 'Cos all I do is dance
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| I need a gun to keep myself from harm
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| The poor people are burning in the sun
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| No, they ain’t got a chance, they ain’t got a chance
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| I need a gun 'cos all I do is dance
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| 'Cos all I do is dance
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| In my backpack, I got my act right
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| In case you act quite difficult
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| And your is so weaken with anger and discontent
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| Some are seeking and searching like me, moi
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| I’m a peace-loving decoy, ready for retaliation
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| I change the whole occasion to a pine box six-under
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| Impulsive, don’t ask wild wonder
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| Orders given to me is 'Strike' and I’m thunder
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| With lightning fast reflexes on constant alert
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| From the constant hurt that seems limitless
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| With no dropping pressure
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| Seems like everybody’s out to test ya
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| 'Til they see your brake
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| They can’t conceal the hate that consumes you
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| I’m the reason why you flipped your soosa
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| Chill with your old lady at the tilt
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| I got a 90 days digit and I’m filled with guilt
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| From things that I’ve seen
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| Your water’s from a bottle, mine’s from a canteen
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| At night I hear the shots ring, so I’m a light sleeper
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| The cost of life, it seems to get cheaper
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| Out in the desert with my street sweeper
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| The war is over, so said the speaker
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| With the flight suit on Maybe to him I’m just a pawn
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| So he can advance
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| Remember when I used to dance
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| Man, all I wanna do is dance
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| Dance, dance, dance
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| I need a gun to keep myself from harm |