Текст пісні
I walked in the saloon at high noon, the moonshine sipper
Spit a new rhyme till its hasta la vista
The king blew twister, smash your transistor
Its the high plains drifter that had to resist the
Sickness of the city life, I'm sat by the river
A packet of Rizla and a flask full of liquor
Make the locals ask "who's the masked figure?"
Fill a page with the pain of scenes you can't picture
The last heavy hitter, so many consider me
To be very bitter, switching up my delivery
Stitching up my injuries and flipping imagery
Mixing toxins till I'm lost in the synergy
Drown in my misery, a man of mystery
I stand in the blistering heat as the epitome
Of the anti-hero, tipping my Stetson
Space cowboy, I drink whiskey with George Jetson
2001, A space western
Quick on the draw, bring the war to your section
Blood sport veteran, contraband cargo
The lone desperado, rode into Largo
I ride with lost peasants, hot-stepping across deserts
Letting the dust settle for sheep who want shepherd
Shia rock sessions with unorthodox methods
The messenger, ready for death when God beckons
On front lines worldwide, kids have got weapons
And grey skies hide sunshine from the heavens
I'm threatened by the seven sins of my species
I don't need TV, I read tea leaves
Smoke the peace pipe in the chief's teepee
I speak freely, the 3D graffiti writer
Its kind of like the new Easy Rider
More bad apples in the crew than cheap cider
I breathe fire, the propane flamethrower
Man the fort for this hostile takeover
I play poker face, hold the ace
Tucked up my sleeve, leave your mouth with a sour taste
That's just how I play the game nowadays
Apologies to the crowd, I'm an hour late
Battling me? That would be an embarrassing mistake
Like promoters who don't get the 'H' in the right place
My mic stays in close range, I travel the low planes
But drift on a high like cocaine