Hitman

Duration

5:39

Genres

Rock

Description

Lyrics

He's marched miles in his boots On his soles Seven million grains of lightning Hot white snow Maybe I'm not sure But I'm making a fortune I'm erasing names Just take what you wanted Don't get off the floor yet I shot both the candidates In the night it's bitter cold In his soul There are pounds they won't account for When he's gone Killed off the menace Or what was left of him Now what's the problem Don't make a problem