By Phaeton's Design Testo

With plan of revenge in mind, from the double cross, a deal of lies
Bloods boiling, we'll set the trap, execution, my order is wrath.
Seal the North Side's fate, a bouquet for the funeral.
Enlist the killers and Yale, greet him with a shake and death.

Die with your hand in a tight grip.
Kill, at point blank they shoot.
Slay, powder burns your face.
Fall, no angels to catch you.
Devastated with uncontrolled sobs, outcries in a funeral march.
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Hunt for the killers begin, incite six years of war.
From the Hellions to the rise of power, arrogance will seal your doom.
The cabaret adds to your demise, with drink 'Two Guns' is out.

Die with your hand in a tight grip.
Kill, at point blank they shoot.
Slay, powder burns your face.
Fall, no angels to catch you.