Childhood War Songtext
von Bronze Nazareth
Childhood War Songtext
That′s a nice guy
Now that's a beautiful little doll, look at that
Yo, yo, yo, back in ′88, I was nine or maybe eight
Staring at a china plate, dad said I bought it if it breaks
Wait, we nada wanna grapes, church drapes stare back at me
In gun rule, more than one tool in pop's cabinet
He had a rifle, 357 and twenty two
Tender age of "I don't know", he taught me how to shoot
Mosquitos bitin′, my trigger finger told me to spark it
I′m thinking all the time, how humans used to be his target
From hot jungle, a little different from my own forest
So mind your business, or relatives will hit the floors
Now I love fatigues ever since I remember
Played war with fake guns, even in cold December
Shot time, borrow in the back of the house, he fell out
Dusted off this gun like I was cleaning the house (bah, bah, bah)
Every game we played, I was the last one slain
I got in the dirt with a clean shirt, tossing my grenades
War was so easy, gas is usually my best friend
We had mad lives, and never really would end
Mom's scared ′cause I used to come home with purple hearts
Loved to break shit, never used a board when throwing darts
Booby trapped garage, so neighbors can step on glass
My pops all got the windows smiling like nerve gas
I'm eleven years old and my war game is too smart
Like, I′mma hit the streets with a passion that sparks
Burnt the fort down with cousins like Vietkong was in it
Used to stare at dad's picture with M-16 guns in it
Wished it was me, with that itchy trigger finger
So ya′ll better buy my album, or my syndrome might still linger
'Cause if I didn't have music, I′d steal these hammers
Shove it in your gums, empty clips like the cannisters
Ah, robbing armored trucks, burn this clip, merge
′Cause this forty hours a week bullshit is for the birds
Now that's a beautiful little doll, look at that
Yo, yo, yo, back in ′88, I was nine or maybe eight
Staring at a china plate, dad said I bought it if it breaks
Wait, we nada wanna grapes, church drapes stare back at me
In gun rule, more than one tool in pop's cabinet
He had a rifle, 357 and twenty two
Tender age of "I don't know", he taught me how to shoot
Mosquitos bitin′, my trigger finger told me to spark it
I′m thinking all the time, how humans used to be his target
From hot jungle, a little different from my own forest
So mind your business, or relatives will hit the floors
Now I love fatigues ever since I remember
Played war with fake guns, even in cold December
Shot time, borrow in the back of the house, he fell out
Dusted off this gun like I was cleaning the house (bah, bah, bah)
Every game we played, I was the last one slain
I got in the dirt with a clean shirt, tossing my grenades
War was so easy, gas is usually my best friend
We had mad lives, and never really would end
Mom's scared ′cause I used to come home with purple hearts
Loved to break shit, never used a board when throwing darts
Booby trapped garage, so neighbors can step on glass
My pops all got the windows smiling like nerve gas
I'm eleven years old and my war game is too smart
Like, I′mma hit the streets with a passion that sparks
Burnt the fort down with cousins like Vietkong was in it
Used to stare at dad's picture with M-16 guns in it
Wished it was me, with that itchy trigger finger
So ya′ll better buy my album, or my syndrome might still linger
'Cause if I didn't have music, I′d steal these hammers
Shove it in your gums, empty clips like the cannisters
Ah, robbing armored trucks, burn this clip, merge
′Cause this forty hours a week bullshit is for the birds
Writer(s): Justin Cross Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
