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In the army we were taught a method called S.P.O.R.T.S.
Slap the magazine up
Pull the magazined out
Obeserve the chamber
Replace the magazine
Tap the magazine
Shoot
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And death climbs the steps one by one, To give you the rose that's been burnt by her son, Point me to the sky above I can't get there on my own, Walk me through the graveyard Dig up her bones
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