Слова:
The Birthday Party Fears Of Gun

(he hates its face) just sittin' and talkin' to Heart and ticks talkin' back to Clock in slow and studied kicks the fears of Gun are the fears of everyone

'm about (Chorus x2) (Blaze Ya Dead Homie) Tomahawks, shotguns, axes, chains These are all the things that a G brings To your party, birthday, wedding

My friends, it's her fucking birthday She rocks there's nothing else to say I think that it will be a bloody friday I offered her a pretty gun thanks