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• Artiste: Young Fathers
• Titre: Hangman
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INCORRECT: avant la mauvaise ligne
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I'm almost there. I'm almost there, But not quite Travelling through the bayou, Feel the eeriness at sunset My senses on high alert, So I say, 'Hello! Who's there?' Nothing Like a whistle in the wind As I move on forward I hear the leaves rustling (Leaves rustling) In a state of grace words I shouldn't have said are all forgiven All the days of bad forgotten But still, to me, revenge Is a dish best served cold Like ice cold with an ice pick And a blindfold I'm going, going, gone I said, 'I'm going, going, gone' Time to meet your maker Time to meet your maker I'm prowling, growling, howling [Hook] Hangman A bullet a piece for the two of you (Hey) For you Low deep nasty You chopping me down like the Amazon No getting past me Two feet in the air You wouldn't last a marathon Racing with the panther The maximum price-ah Curator of the faith-ah I'm never too late-ah Don't shoot the messenger Shoot the messenger's mother Ffucker [Hook] Hangman A bullet a piece for the two of you For you