Bus Benches - ATMOSPHERE

Shhh there he goes, tonight’s man

The one who’s putting gods smile back upon my hands

The plan this evening is hiding behind leaves and brush

Quiet the breathing hush wait for the right time to rush

Grab your man by the forehead, slid the device across his throat

I’ll hold him tight while he chokes, 8, 9, count to 10 drop the body rip the

pockets

Come ups, cash and plastic wrapped rockets, hey mister mister you think that

you’re the shit

But you looked really funny when you felt your tendon rip

There’s a thin line between fire and fear, hey mister never should have set

your shop up here

Cause I’ve been thumpin' chumps that push dumps to zombie tree stumps

Big man on the avenue becomes mommy’s little speed bump

And this punk was easy, must’ve hated spinach

And the pigs all smiled they never like you to begin with

Ain’t trying to be the man no more, cause I’m a man now

About to take your crew to war, I got a plan now

I’m used to blood and death outgrew the gut wrench

So tell the devil I said fuck em' when he finds you on the bus bench