Intro: Some folks ride like the wind, With the whispering pines to guide them, And the burning light inside them Keeps them warm in the snow. Others fear the sounds they hear, Make banditos out of molehills, Fill their hearts with porcupine quills, They're dead and buried long before they go. Charlton Heston movies are no longer in demand, And his immortal soul may lay forever in the sand, The angels wouldn't take him up to heaven like he planned, 'Cuz they couldn't pry that gun from his Cold Dead Hand. It takes a cold, dead hand to decide to pull the trigger, Takes a cold, dead heart, and as near as I can figure, With your cold, dead aim, you're trying to prove your dick is bigger But we know, Your chariot may not be swinging low. Cold, Dead Hand. Cold, Dead Hand. Cold, Dead Hand. Cold, Dead hand. You're a big, big man with a little bitty gland, So you need something bigger just to fill your...Cold Dead Hand. Imagine if the Lord were here, and he knew what you've been thinkin', Would his sacred heart be sinkin', into the canyon of dismay? And on the ones who sell the guns, he'd sick the vultures and coyotes, Only the devil's true devotees Could profiteer from pain and fear. (Repeat verses 3-5) You're a big, big man with a little bitty gland, So you need something bigger with a hairpin trigger, You don't wanna get caught with your trousers down, When the psycho killer comes around. So you make your home like a Thunderdome, And you're always packin' everywhere you roam, And the psychos win no matter what you do, 'Cuz they're gonna buy way more guns than you. (double time) And while you're stumblin' out of bed, they put five rounds in the back of your head, Or you get depressed 'cuz the money went South, and you put your own shotgun in your mouth, and your kids walk in and they find you there, like a headless lump in your underwear, and they move the gun and it kills them too, and your wife just doesn't know what to do, so she takes a hand-grenade from her shoe, and she pulls the pin. And it's all on you... And your Cold, Dead Hand. (final notes?