Year of the Gun - Last In Line

I drive myself into an early grave

To a faith I’ve become a slave

The Butcher, the Baker, it’s common place

Everybody’s got one and they’re taking aim at you

Another hit and run

In the year of the gun

Gun

In the year of the gun

Gun

In the year of the gun

Come and take in so many ways

Are you safe?

Another debt to pay

In track suits or jack boots, it’s all the same

Bite your tongue before they rip it out of you

Have we come undone

In the year of the gun

Gun

In the year of the gun

Gun

In the year of the gun

One comes undone

And one life is stolen

Hands dead and cold

Your laws are misspoken

We reach for the sun

Only to be shackled up in chains

Gun

In the year of the gun

Gun

In the year of the gun

Gun

In the year of the gun

In the year of the gun

In the year of the gun

Gun