Fish - Moving Targets
Rolling numbers, rolling bones, lucky ladies he takes them out and takes them down,
Collecting trophies, hunting game, no remorse as they've only got themselves to blame,
Bleeding heart innocents running in herds, the weak and the woeful get what they deserve,
There's no room for pity, no space for guilt, in this murderous city it's kill or be killed,
When you're running the field you become a moving target,