To Killers of Puppy Dogs

Swordsman, hey you better bar the door.
You better throw away the key.
You better hide it from yourself, you see
If you want to rid that new house from those dreams of me.

'Cause no, I will not be the bullet that 'lies' inside your gun.
Boy, what's wrong with you? So confused to think that you're the only one
With a hard on his sleeve
Is ripped and worn
From days of silver crimes
But pup's eyes so golden
Your days old trash
Will never stop it's shine.

Daddy's boy through and please drive through.
Chip off his wood with a lust for those lights
Of one such domestic-city
With no such responsibility.
It's so fucking hillbilly
To run round willy nilly --

Till you bring blood on the sword or worse yet you bring none
Cause there's none left to loan
Not even a bone
For your bitch in the ride
Who sat right by your side.

To killers of puppy dogs once bit by the rabid
No, I will not be your bullet.
I'm coming after your asses.