His spit is worth more than her work

Pass the purse to the pugilist

He's a prizefighter

He brought rings and he owns kin

And now he's swingin'

And now he's the champion

Hey revolver, don't mothers make good fathers?

Revolver

A potless domain

Hiders festerning hopes she's certain there's more

pictures of fields without fences

Her body numbs as he approaches the door

Hey revolver, don't mothers make good fathers?

Revolver