When poeple see us
Walking side by side
They may try and please us
Or simply try and hide..
These people are weaklings
With nothing to give but cash
Here to serve as targets
For us, or only just be trash
Whatever the reason,
There's no hope for you or me
We're sisters, buried in crime
What 'hope' could there possible be?
Wait, I see a person,
Looking flithy rich
If we get money off of him
We could eat, then go to our little niche
Look at him, why isn't he scared?
Shouldn't he pee his pants?
I've got a gun to his chin,
Not a little song and dance
What's this?
An offer to a gig?
He'll give us food, a home, and shelter,
How could we make it this big?
He has to be joking,
We're the Thomson sisters
We're leathal weapons,
Not toys, mister!
He says he doesn't care,
He says we're just what he was looking for
Could it be, Patty,
An Angel knocking at the door?
