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
