Crook Catastrophe & The Gunblast Kid - Necro, The Godfathers

We ride into town a half after sundown

Barge in saloons covered in scars and wounds

Speak in the harshest of tunes, play cards with the goons

Catch you cheating, blow your heart through the room

It’s the black Lee Van Cleef

If it’s beef we can do it in the streets where the quick hands meet

We settle vendettas, cocking on that lever on metal

With leather wet a Winchester, Beretta, let it put lead in your sweater

Whoever meddle with cheddar, y’all better dead and behead us

Too gutter clever, you read about us, we measuring feathers

That boy and that girl is Hansel and Gretel endeavours

The wild hooligans, six shooters spin for big moolah ends

And Slick Rick The Ruler gems

It’s kid stuff, my shit bust through your jewellers lens

With a few men that love to loot, feud and sin

Villain apparel, double barrel under cougar skin

Sick aim, one from the thing that’ll lose your brim

Second shot, your weapon drop but it bruise your skin

If it have to come to a third shot, homie that’s a earth plot

Guaranteed the squeeze be a murk shot

Make the bartender pour another round of drinks

Up in the brothel house, bitches walk around in pink

With trey-pounds, we make rounds around the bank

Time is right, broad daylight, couple of gauges

Teller clutching the wages, handkerchiefs cover the faces

Easy labor, sheriff in town got our mug on the papers

Dustin the Desert, boy, we dusted a dozen of haters

Crook Catastrophe that’s me

One life to live, Gunblast Kid make you look at the ratchet piece

Sunset, ride out of town on the horse carriage fleet

If you like to gamble I tell you I’m your man

You win some, lose some, it’s all the same to me

The pleasure is to play, it makes no difference what you say

Dangerous with a gat, change the position how I clap

Buck you upside down like a bat, pop a slug through your hat

I’m like John Wayne, more like Wayne Gacy with broads

With my gun cocked, make you run it on more trains than Traci Lords

Bastard, it’s rob-a-dollar day

Faster than Doc Holliday in a draw, each shot I blast is quality

Llama revolvers, cook beef with crook creeps

The drama I’m involved in makes the O.K.

Corral look weak

Pistol under the table, in poker leave you disabled

Gun belt hang down to my dick, my peacemaker bang stables

At range wars like Shane, Oklahoma Kid

(Yee-hawl!) (Pop, pop!) Leave you in a coma, kid

Spurs on my boot cut your grill, you twirl gats and impress girls You’re cute

with your skill, but me, I shoot to kill

Rooting, tooting, looting, hollering, country jamboree

A bandit like Ike Clanton, I’ll clap you like a tambourine

Don’t get into shit with a thug, move on child

Your hot girlfriend’s tit is hit with a slug, it’s bullets gone wild

Disrespectful goons down with extortion of your pockets

I’ll protect your saloon for a portion of the profits

Retards get veins cut with shards of glass over a game of cards

While I sip Chardonnay with some dime broads

Cold Crush, gold rush bandits

Get rushed for your gold, blood rush from your holes when cannons blam, kid

If you like to gamble I tell you I’m your man

You win some, lose some, it’s all the same to me

The pleasure is to play, it makes no difference what you say