A Masters In reverse Psychology

Put the bullet in the barrel
Take the safety off
Keep shooting at the Devil in the moonlight
Put it all on black till your luck comes back
We’re all waiting for the end
What kind of finish will he send?
These hands made of splinters
Keep knocking back the whiskey sours
We’re all waiting for the end
What kind of finish will he send?
These hands made of splinters
Keep knocking back the whiskey sours
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
‘Til 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 waiting for the end
What kind of finish will he send?
We’re all waiting for the end
What kind of finish will he send?