[Intro]
[Voice: Distorted, male, 1970s tape quality]
"You see, the world doesn't want to be saved. It wants to be quieted. And the only thing quieter than a prayer... is the silence that follows the flash. We aren't here to find God today. We’re here to make sure he hears us."
(Sound of a shotgun racking, then the bass kicks in)
[Verse 1]
Sawn-off symphony, barrel hums a hymn,
Church of the trigger where the light stays dim.
Rust on the grip, prayers in the clip,
Hollow tips sing when the steel lips spit.
9 mil’ tucked, cold as a grave plot,
Dancing with the devil, every step’s a gunshot.
Crown Vic creeping, blacked-out halo,
Death rides shotgun, destination’s fatal.
[Chorus] (Heavy bass, distorted vocals overlap high pitch and slow different vocals)
Sawn-off preacher, 9 mil’ choir,
Sermon in the chamber, world on fire.
Click-clack gospel, shells hit the ground,
This the hymn of the hunted, no savior found.
[Verse 2]
Smoke from the barrel, sermon in the wind,
Confessions in the casing, sins never end.
Rusted blue steel, baptized in grime,
Ain’t no holy water, just powder and crime.
Muzzle flash scripture, it writes in the dark,
Ink of the wicked, each spark leaves a mark.
9 mil’ whispers, secrets in the fog,
Sawn-off howling like a rabid dog.
[Chorus] (Heavy bass, distorted vocals)
Sawn-off preacher, 9 mil’ choir,
Sermon in the chamber, world on fire.
Click-clack gospel, shells hit the ground,
This the hymn of the hunted, no savior found.
[Verse 3] (Ruby the cherry Style - Fast, Chaotic, pitch it higher, high BPM)
Streetlights flicker like candles on the altar,
Concrete pews where the weak-willed falter.
Vest made of Kevlar, my only robe,
Thorns in the crown, scattered round the globe.
(Make a beat switch to fit the switch of the lyrics)
Catch me slumped in the back of the hearse, it’s a blessing and a curse,
Put my soul in the dirt, let the maggots disperse.
I’m a shadow in the alley, I’m the static on the screen,
Promethazine dreams, I’m a fiend for the routine.
Got the 9 in my palm and the thoughts in my head,
Better off forgotten, better off being dead.
The Sawn-off is screaming, it’s begging for air,
Look into the void and you’ll see me right there.
Verse 4: ($crim’s Style - Slow, Raspy, Dark)
...Yeah...
Northside resident, devil in the elements,
Leaving no evidence, killing 'em for reverence.
(Grey, Grey, Grey)
I don't pray to the sky, I just pray to the pills,
Counting up the trauma while I'm counting up the bills.
Got a halo made of barbed wire, lungs full of smoke,
Life is just a tragedy, a sick fucking joke.
Sawn-off tucked in the True Religion denim,
Spitting out the lead, man, I'm spitting out the venom…
[Bridge] (Same Tone)
Steel sermons echo, no choir to sing,
Cold-blooded hymns make the graveyard swing.
Barrels in duet, harmonize the pain,
Hollow point psalms turn blood into rain.
