First thing keep your temper, for blastin' pop 'em wise,
At times there's favor things you gotta show.
There's Gatti kind a style, they're crook-ed by demand,
Weighin' gun play, tools get out of hand.

Well you'll hear of tell just how, each and every hired gun,
They go and burn 'em fast, they better spurn 'em stung,
'Cause gun play ever stuns.

A dime to ear gets wise, some guy connects mistrust,
For there are many things that lets 'em know.
Then Gatti said one day, "he's dead, buy 'Tu Qui' a can,
And one way tour in sedan".

Hell, they're here to kill us now, each and all our other guns.
You better burn 'em fast, you better burn 'em done,
'Cause gun play gets it done.

But then they slayed our Capo, he was no longer there,
For there were many zings of spent ammo.
His son no dad at three, drama played its hand,
Weighin' someday, he'll countermand.

Well, it's here and hell is now, each and all the other guns.
We batter to the last, We'll batter them to dung,
'Cause gun play's never done.

Our dead we do remember, a year ago today,
For there are many things each side don't know.
Until the last men standing, dyin' most each clan,
Because no way, fools understand.

Too near to tell you now how almost every gunner's sons.
They failed to learn it fast, it did get 'er dead too young.
This gun play no one won.

Gun play killed their sons.