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Picture the face of your fellows Too long a bed with no sleep With their complex romantic attachments All look on their sorrows and weep They dont get a moments reflection Theres always a crowd in their eye Pity the plight of young fellows Regard all their worries and cry Their crusty young mothers were lazy perhaps Leaving it up to the school Where the moral perspective is hazy perhaps And the climate; oppressively cool Give me some acre of cellos Pitched at some distant regret Pity the fate of young fellows And their anxious attempts to forget Verse 1 These are the tears of a thug like murky water Crying tears as clear as mud for his fathers daughter His half-sister; he felt obliged to support her Since her mum was poor and his dad died even poorer Separated until she was 8 years old He knew as soon as he saw her That he adored her, so hes baying for blood with a borer And an automatic weapon; Smith & Weston SongtexteThatd split a fucking hole in your chest then hes been looking to corner The perpetrators responsible for a killing Now hes finally got em where he wants em Blood will start spilling The atmosphere in the air tonight is chilling The blanket of stars above their heads in the sky feels like a ceiling Slowly crushing down on em as the terror starts progressing That leaves the youngest of the two open to his suggestion Only 13 years old; pubescent adolescent About to learn a very harsh and depressing lesson Verse 2 These are the tears of a wanna-be thug Crying tears as thick as blood cause his elder set him up To take the fall and now hes stuck with no way of getting out Cause even if there was a way hed still want to vent this anger out Without a doubt these streets are rife with corruption Young minds get corrupt even so easily fucked that only leads to destruction in the end False assumptions that people have your back makes you believe their your friends All though some represent; no one can be trusted When double O per-cent cause some thugs will go to lengths To get revenge Even if it means manipulating youths to carry skins and do the dirty work for them The kind of work for men That route the dark is past Not impressionable young children that never had a chance Growing up in his manors most are doomed from the start Cause the minds of their peers are as ill as their hearts Aus Songtexte Mania