Warmachines - Billy Woods

Missiles, close enough to see model and make

Haters gon' hate

Watch my city like The Blind Sheikh

Handle snakes at the wake

You can tell he went to hell, just look at his face

Looking like the one that got away

Survivor’s guilt like runaway slave

Dad’s coffin in the house for two days

Lenin lying in state

Grab the gats, had a fucking parade

Ticker tape on the graves

Smoke like grease fire

For a pittance, the guns was hired

Good riddance

Road block of burning tires, the plot thickens

Delivered to hissing mob, appeal to distant God

The sun flatten hard

Captain Queeg Caine mutinous

Black rain luminous, exhale sour cumulus

Clench teeth, hold cigars, freshly rolled

Stories told, lies all

Cold, call, collect

Silent auction

His soul went unsold

Not for lack of trying

High horse rode hard, metalless iron

Precious as blood from tyrants, built to spill

Instill men with the will to kill

Your last meal served cold, now it’s really real

Mountain ranges capped with snow, at times, Guantanamo slow

Mud hamlets in the valley bellow

Dirt stones, boney goats, at night the whisper of ghosts

Satellite phones, whirring drones

My nigga, grip the toast

Put 'em in the pit then we watch the fucking pendulum (x8)