[Verse 1] Born in love with a bloodline punch And a time release that the capsule held so strange Wore a target of a frontline punch And a crime exceeding of absolute rage Rode a train in a blood clot vein Where the names of the young were hung in our face Saw the wrong and withstand the tug Of my fees the reason, a big mistake Bore a likeness of those before him Who held the title in flesh and name Said hello and then said goodbye And in between he would plead his case Saw the dark and embraced the light And he felt the crawl of his calling fate Stuck the landing but tripped the wire And let every weapon off in his face Saw the looting and convoluting Of absolution that never came Tried polluting with contribution And held the movement in every frame More of the withering, unforgiving And run to the last grand contraband Caught the harm and then bought the farm And that's the part where I come in
[Hook] But all the cash and all the cash And all the cash and all the cash In the world can't pay me to Let go of you (go of you) And all the death and all the death And all the death and all the death They dealt don't change the way I fell for you (fell for you) (x2)
Try to take it, oh you can't Pry it out my cold dead hand Pry it out my cold dead hand (x2)
[Verse 2] Born in love with a bloodline punch And a time release that the capsule held so cold Wore a shrug of a one-time fuck In a clear mistake, well that's great, lets go Rode a train in a blood clot vein Where the eyes of men caress head, chest, toe Saw the rug and withstand the tug Of our absent love, well who the fuck knows Bore a likeness of those before Who held the title in flesh not name Said hello and then said goodbye And in between she would sit and wait Saw the light but embraced the dark As she heard the call of her crawling hate "Fuck the landing, I'll man the weapons And hold the barrel to my own fate" Saw the promise and felt the presence Of possibility, just not her's Tried connecting with lost affection And saw direction with lust not words More of the withering, unforgiving And bad to the last drop, Brooklyn birds Fill the weapon and spin the chamber And bend the part and are not hurt