Words Or Swords, What’s It Gonna Be?

You runnin’ off at the mouth

Or your fists?

Are you puttin’ up or down a fight?

Do you spread darkness?

Makin’ up some bad?

Dontcha ever think of flight?

Make a gangland symbol.

Spread your shit around.

Tell a little story by the

Color of the ground.

They might get the picture.

They might admit defeat.

Doncha buy in to it.

This is their retreat.

Gonna hafta bold ’em.

Make it sickly sweet.

They will belly up.

They will come and eat.


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