Gun Feva!

No known cure!

 Verse:

 

I wait for the explosion--the other shoe to drop,

cause like the sun rising in the east, you've just got

to counter common sense calls for gun control

after another mass-shooting--you've got a hole

 

Pre-Chorus:

 

where your heart used to be--I think I know what's wrong,

let's see, irrational knee-jerking, all compassion gone?

 

Verse:

Sounds like a textbook case of that virulent disease

that basically turns you into a zombie--get help, please!

With counseling, medication, and shock therapy,

after a few years you might again be able to see

 

Pre-Chorus:

 

just how sick is your delusion,

that more guns make us safer is just an illusion.

 

 Chorus:

 

Yep, sounds like you've got a bad case of Gun Feva.

Resistance to logic--being blind to pain? Yep, the great deceiva!

And I suppose you even sleep with your gun next to your head,

and you carry on quite a conversation with it in bed?

 

Verse:

 

Piece of mind in your pocket--now I understand.

People just want to talk, and the things they demand?

The caress of steel is a comfort in this violent place.

I guess my diagnosis was way off base!

 

Pre-chorus:

 

Stone-cold heart is the way to be,

emotionless iron, for you and me.

 

Repeat Chorus:

 

End