P.o.s. - Hand Made Hand Gun lyrics

I am a hand made hand gun Operated by paper crooks Loaded up with bullets of blank pages Torn from your little black book You can call me all your favorites Oh, I love those dirty looks You know I'll be drunk and waiting On the steps of St. Anthony's Church Knuckle-blood stains the doorframe Frustration both ways You see me knock, I see you gaze through the peeker Watch me sneak far away (bump bump bump bump) As I push my please through the shades I'm out of sight, for I know violence is nonsense From a dime, I spent your mind Time stop for us (caught up) Cost of a heart, accosted, don't blink Nothing's so strangled like us, nothin' deranged like that love Nothin' explains away the way I played like new things, don't break Live under your ribs, a toybox, an Apple plug-in Tuned to tune out, give out what's yours Like when in doubt, play the mouse in the mouth like Please don't let me die And don't let me die But you know me, I could never lay you down to sleep Take a knee, spillin' salt and shame up on your pretty feet With a head full of bourbon, I do this Though I love you and I don't think you hurt me on purpose I am a hand made hand gun Operated by paper crooks Loaded up with bullets of blank pages Torn from your little black book You can call me all your favorites Oh, I love those dirty looks You know I'll be drunk and waiting On the steps of St. Anthony's Church I thought of everything Even your paper ring The organ's playing our song Playing our song, so sing along Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners Now and at the hour of our d**h. Amen You come to find me, hopelessly Wrapped around the gun, staring at the sun Don't you f**in' lie to me G'head and try it, see, God's witness Pick a sense and listens, hidden Layin' down behind a line of ivy He can hand you pure moments Or quit you from every sense you got Protect you with the spectacles- Testicles, wallet, watch But the devil keeps an open shop He pays his bills and fills his pots, Thanks to the single sable sheep Hidden in that hollow plot It's a cla**ic case of damned if you do, damned if you don't And I'll be damned if I end up playing Job with God's loving hand on my throat You could swear I traced a trail of wormwood slipping from the Empyrean But Providence, just a myth if I aim to let my trigger pray But you know me, I could never lay you down to sleep I'm a prostrate paper tiger supplicating at your pretty feet My mouth may run on a loaded gun and a belly full of bourbon I only do this 'cause I love ya, I know you'd never hurt me on purpose I am a hand made hand gun Operated by paper crooks Loaded up with bullets of blank pages Torn from your little black book You can call me all your favorites Oh, I love those dirty looks You know I'll be drunk and waiting On the steps of St. Anthony's Church I thought of everything Even your paper ring The organ's playing our song Playing our song, so sing along I thought of everything Even your paper ring The organ's playing our song Playing our song, so sing along