Kick up the gear again and again,
This is one game that I’m going to win.
Screech through the city in the black silence of night,
Neon and darkness and the blaze of headlights.
Mr Dylan on the stereo sings his haunting protest song,
I’m gona lay down this pistol on the boy who did me wrong.
I stop outside a house on this quiet suburban road,
The revolver I’m holding ready to empty its load.
I hold tight to this gun, my brand new best friend,
And take straight aim, this is the end.
The bullet flies through my window, through hers, to his head.
I hear screaming and panic, the bedroom walls are red.
The tyres are burning as I fly down the street,
I grin to myself and lean back in my seat.
So I hope she was worth it, your little bit on the side,
And the torment it was for me, all the times that I cried.
But I am the one who leaves smiling; the upper hand is mine,
It’s been a long time coming, and darling, it tasted divine
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