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Guns of Brooklyn


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When they kick out your front door How you gonna come? With your hands on your head Or on the trigger of your gun? When the law break in How you gonna go? Shot down on the pavement Or waiting in death row? You can crush us You can bruise us But you'll have to answer to Oh, the guns of Brooklyn The money feels good And your life, you like it well But surely your time will come As in heaven, as in hell You see, he feels like Ivan Born under the Brooklyn sun His game is called survivin' At the end of the harder they come You know it means no mercy They caught him with a gun No need for the Black Maria Goodbye to the Brooklyn sun

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