Guns - The Solids

Lately I think about guns

I think I need one

I’m pulling out the stinger

Counted all of my stack

And I cover my tracks

Trigger pulls the finger back

Pry it from my cold dead hands (Twenty paces)

You can’t have my gun (You can’t have it)

Pry it from my cold dead hands (Twenty paces)

You can’t have my gun (You can’t have my gun)

(All right) Ohhhhhh ohhhhhh ohhohhm

Lately I’m tied to my bed

And the guns in my head

Loaded and excited

Only as loud as you shout

Won’t swallow my doubt

Pick an ill and fight it out (Come on)

Pry it from my cold dead hands (Twenty paces)

You can’t have my gun (You can’t have it)

Pry it from my cold dead hands (Twenty paces)

You can’t have my gun (You can’t have my gun)

Where do the young break

Pictures from the frames

Throwing glasses and

Hand grenades

Hand grenades

Pry it from my cold dead hands (Twenty paces)

You can’t have my gun

Pry it from my cold dead hands (Twenty paces)

You can’t have my gun