No God Needs a Gun

“And the Lord said... cock it... and see who blinks first.” Blood on the altar, teeth in the tray— they pray like killers in a holy ballet. Scripture stamped on hollow shells, baptized in brass and shotgun bells. Halo's bent, the crucifix twists— God with a rifle and a dead man’s kiss. They sell your soul in camouflage coats, light a match, then burn the vote. What does heaven charge... for a hitman with a rosary? Which God? (Who’s next?) Which war? (What’s left?) Which truth you choking for? Whose face? Whose name? Still think it's not a game? "We are soldiers of the Lord..." NO GOD. NEEDS. A GUN. Paint the saints with gasoline, light the choir—make them scream. Hymns read like war commands, signed in blood by wicked hands. They crown the beast, kiss his boots, call it faith, call it truth. A prophet with a poison plan— gold teeth grin on a TV man. “This is my rifle. There are many like it…” NO GOD. NEEDS. A GUN. (x4) Ink the bible in red wax tears, hollow-point psalms for a thousand years. No light, no lamb, just lead and pride— a holy war you wear inside. Which God?! (YOUR god!) Which war?! (OUR war!) Which truth you bleeding for?! Which truth you BLEEDING FOR?! WHICH TRUTH YOU BLEEDING FOR?! no god... needs a gun... x4