| Well place your justice in my palm
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| And then I’ll make a fist
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| And punch your grimaced face
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| Until every knuckle breaks
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| And bleeds in resistance to my sidewalk painting
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| A mangled body twitching and regaining consciousness and closure
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| Attempting composure before a bullet
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| In the mouth answers the questions of exposure
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| And God of Sunday School façades
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| And paycheques to validate the time I served abroad
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| (We will say it all means nothing) if I forget why I’m here
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| To serve and protect my fist over fist
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| Mind under matter career
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| That’s why this sounds kind of funny
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| When he falls to his knees
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| With his hand on his throat while he begs you to please (spare his life)
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| Falls to his knees (when he falls to his knees)
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| Falls to his knees (With his hand on his throat while he begs you to please)
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| Oh all of this ask for change (change)
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| While I explain the hardest of bodies dulls the softest of knives
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| When I hold up his head and carve X’s in his eyes
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| When I hold up his head and carve X’s in his eyes
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| And carve X’s in his eyes
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| I swear I have compassion
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| I’ve just been trained to disregard the prisoner’s life
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| Because I am the prison guard
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| I swear I have compassion
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| I’ve just been trained to disregard the prisoner’s life
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| Because I am the prison guard |