THE GAME / TARGET PRACTICE
No lyrics have been submitted for this track yet.
Point your crooked finger somewhere else Keep my people out of your mouth I’ve heard enough of the shit that you sell The call is coming from inside your house My agenda is Death of your ideals My agenda is You fear like we fear You go to a banquet for rats In a dress made of cheese Don’t be surprised to find Your home infested with fleas My skin burns Beneath the shadow of the crucifix My stomach turns At every word you pious bitch My agenda is Death of your ideals My agenda is You fear like we fear My dreams smell like death I will bury your bones Reaper’s sweet caress Let my fury flow Lies, rage, pain, all you create is hate Stoke the flames, burn your shame I’ll devastate, break, your bigot domain
Submitted by Grave666 — Jun 02, 2026