An entourage of personal demons
All packing serious heat
Nickel-plated desert eagles
And I'm feeling weak
Walk up to you and strip you where you stand trembling
Walk up and stick a gun in your face
Hand over all the f**in' guns
Hand over the d**, you f**
Fired up the old acetylene torch
Lit a cigarette and went to work
Completely self-absorbed
Don't give a f** about
Who or what you know
Just care about the ammo
And the three keys of coke