A Masters In Reverse Psychology

Put the bullet in the barrell

Take the safety off

Keep shootin' at the devil in the moonlight

Put it all on black

Till your luck comes back

We're all waitin' for the end

What kind of finish will he send

These hands made of splinters

Keep knockin' back the whiskey sours [Repeat: x2]

I've got a few more days to go and

I've got another crust of bread somewhere holed up

Waiting in this

Is this what's left of the house

Fill the lamp up with kerosene and toss the rest in the hall

Just coat the walls and strike the cigarette

When you hear them coming

We'll pray for them and stay with them

Till the poor little bastards die hand in hand

We'll never forget them when they're gone

So keep the girls inside

Of the little church

With their bruised knees

On the pews

We're all waitin' for the end

What kind of finish will he send?