Текст The Dead Weather – So Far From Your Weapon

There’s a bullet in my pocket burning a hole

You’re so far from your weapon
And the place you were born

There’s a bullet in my pocket burning a hole

You’re so far from your weapon
And you want to go home

I try to give you whiskey
But it never do work
Suddenly, you’re beggin me
To do so much worse

I knew it from the get go
The bullet was cursed
Ever since I had you
Every little thing hurts

You wanna get up? Let go?
I say no

You dream of seeing fire in them hills
But you better wipe that smile from your lips
Which of us will be the one to go?
He who hits the road’s the one who lives