Crook Catastrophe & The Gunblast Kid

[Verse 1: Kool G Rap]
We ride into town a half after sundown
Barge in saloons covered in scars and wounds
Speak in the harshest of tunes, play cards with the goons
Catch you cheating, blow your heart through the room
It's the black Lee Van Cleef
If it's beef we can do it in the streets where the quick hands meet
We settle vendettas, cocking on that lever on metal
With leather wet a Winchester, Beretta, let it put lead in your sweater
Whoever meddle with cheddar, y'all better dead and behead us
Too gutter clever, you read about us, we measuring feathers
That boy and that girl is Hansel and Gretel endeavours
The wild hooligans, six shooters spin for big moolah ends
And Slick Rick The Ruler gems
It's kid stuff, my shit bust through your jewellers lens
With a few men that love to loot, feud and sin
Villain apparel, double barrel under cougar skin
Sick aim, one from the thing that'll lose your brim
Second shot, your weapon drop but it bruise your skin
If it have to come to a third shot, homie that's a earth plot
Guaranteed the squeeze be a murk shot
Make the bartender pour another round of drinks
Up in the brothel house, bitches walk around in pink
With trey-pounds, we make rounds around the bank
Time is right, broad daylight, couple of gauges
Teller clutching the wages, handkerchiefs cover the faces
Easy labor, sheriff in town got our mug on the papers
Dustin the Desert, boy, we dusted a dozen of haters
Crook Catastrophe that's me
One life to live, Gunblast Kid make you look at the ratchet piece
Sunset, ride out of town on the horse carriage fleet

[Hook: (Motörhead 'Ace of Spades' sample]
If you like to gamble I tell you I'm your man
You win some, lose some, it's all the same to me
The pleasure is to play, it makes no difference what you say

[Verse 2: Necro]
Dangerous with a gat, change the position how I clap
Buck you upside down like a bat, pop a slug through your hat
I'm like John Wayne, more like Wayne Gacy with broads
With my gun cocked, make you run it on more trains than Traci Lords
Bastard, it's rob-a-dollar day
Faster than Doc Holliday in a draw, each shot I blast is quality
Llama revolvers, cook beef with crook creeps
The drama I'm involved in makes the O.K. Corral look weak
Pistol under the table, in poker leave you disabled
Gun belt hang down to my dick, my peacemaker bang stables
At range wars like Shane, Oklahoma Kid
(Yee-hawl!) (Pop, pop!) Leave you in a coma, kid
Spurs on my boot cut your grill, you twirl gats and impress girls You're cute with your skill, but me, I shoot to kill
Rooting, tooting, looting, hollering, country jamboree
A bandit like Ike Clanton, I'll clap you like a tambourine
Don't get into shit with a thug, move on child
Your hot girlfriend's tit is hit with a slug, it's bullets gone wild
Disrespectful goons down with extortion of your pockets
I'll protect your saloon for a portion of the profits
Retards get veins cut with shards of glass over a game of cards
While I sip Chardonnay with some dime broads
Cold Crush, gold rush bandits
Get rushed for your gold, blood rush from your holes when cannons blam, kid

[Hook: (Motörhead 'Ace of Spades' sample]
If you like to gamble I tell you I'm your man
You win some, lose some, it's all the same to me
The pleasure is to play, it makes no difference what you say