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Young Fathers Hangman Lyrics

Last updated: 02/04/2014 07:07:41 PM

I'm almost there.
I'm almost there,
But not quite
Travelling through the bayou,
Feel the eeriness at sunset
My senses on high alert,
So I say, 'Hello! Who's there?'
Like a whistle in the wind
As I move on forward
I hear the leaves rustling
(Leaves rustling)
In a state of grace words
I shouldn't have said are all forgiven
All the days of bad forgotten
But still, to me, revenge
Is a dish best served cold
Like ice cold with an ice pick
And a blindfold
I'm going, going, gone
I said, 'I'm going, going, gone'
Time to meet your maker
Time to meet your maker
I'm prowling, growling, howling


A bullet a piece for the two of you
For you

Low deep nasty
You chopping me down like the Amazon
No getting past me
Two feet in the air
You wouldn't last a marathon
Racing with the panther
The maximum price-ah
Curator of the faith-ah
I'm never too late-ah
Don't shoot the messenger
Shoot the messenger's mother


A bullet a piece for the two of you
For you