Gutshot cans on a wooden fence
Dominos falling on the bowling pins
Hand in the cookie jar, aint no defense
Looks like I gotta turn in my friends

Play the songbird, with a few sour notes
Better to be feathered, than scaped like a goat
Better to sing, my sins aired and emoted,
Than have fellow cons auction off my throat

It’s better to deal than to be the meal
When the pack circles, its time to get real
Gone is the life that I lived with zeal
I was driven, then I drifted, hands off the wheel

Pixels and paper trailed in my wake
Only the arrogant make careless mistakes
Or maybe a stoner, one more than half-baked
Not even a loon loses sight of the lake

Im a small fry, not too big to fail
Will the wealth i once had matter to me in jail?
The outlaw life begins to pale
When Justice finds you and she tells your tale.

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