Revolver

His spit is worth more than her work
Pass the purse to the pugilist
He’s a prizefighter
He brought rings and he owns kin
And now he’s swingin’
And now he’s the champion
Hey revolver, don’t mothers make good fathers?
Revolver
A potless domain
Hiders festerning hopes she’s certain there’s more
pictures of fields without fences
Her body numbs as he approaches the door
Hey revolver, don’t mothers make good fathers?
Revolver

Posted in Rage Against The Machine and tagged , , , , .