[Bronze Nazareth:] Yo, back in '88, I was nine or maybe eight Staring at a china plate, dad said I bought it if it breaks Wait, we not a wanting grapes, church drapes stare back at me In Gun Rule, more than one tool in pop's cabinet He had a rifle, 357 and twenty two Tender age of 'i don't know', he taught me how to shoot Mosquito's bite, my trigger finger told me to spark it I'm thinking all the time, how humans used to be his target From hot jungle, a little different from my forest So mind your business, all relatives can hit the florist Now I love fatigues ever since I remember Played war with fake guns, even in cold December Shot time, borrow in the back of the house, he fell out Dusted off this gun like I was cleaning the house Every game we played I was the last one slayed I got in the dirt with a clean shirt, tossing my grenades War was so easy, gats easily be my best friend We had mad lives, and never really would end Moms scared cuz I used to come home with purple hearts Loved to break shit, never used a board when throwing darts Booby trap garage, so neighbors can step on glass My pops all got the windows smiling like nerve gas I'm eleven years old and my wargame is too smart Like I'mma hit the streets with a passion that sparks Burnt the fort down with cousins like Vietkong was in it Used to stare at dad's picture with M-16 guns in it Wished it was me, with a itchy trigger finger So ya'll better buy my album, or my syndrome might still linger Cuz if I didn't have music, I'd still these hammers Shove it in your gums, empty clips like the cannisters A robbing armored truck, burnt his clip, merge Cuz it's forty hours a week, bullshit is for the birds