Текст Last In Line – Year Of The Gun

I drive myself into an early grave
To a faith I’ve become a slave
The Butcher, the Baker, it’s common place
Everybody’s got one and they’re taking aim at you

Another hit and run
In the year of the gun

Gun
In the year of the gun
Gun
In the year of the gun

Come and take in so many ways
Are you safe? Another debt to pay
In track suits or jack boots, it’s all the same
Bite your tongue before they rip it out of you

Have we come undone
In the year of the gun

Gun
In the year of the gun
Gun
In the year of the gun

One comes undone
And one life is stolen
Hands dead and cold
Your laws are misspoken
We reach for the sun
Only to be shackled up in chains

Gun
In the year of the gun
Gun
In the year of the gun

Gun
In the year of the gun
In the year of the gun
In the year of the gun
Gun