All my rivals will see what I have in store
My gun
I’ve been harboring fleets in this reservoir
Red sun
And this nation’s about to explode

Your disciples are riddled with metaphors
Well-hung
Better pony up and bring both your barrelfulls
Not one
As we release this unspeakable toll

How’s our mother to damn these contributors
With mud?
How will the man who made chemicals difficult
Shed blood?
How’s our father supposed to be told?