Texty: Spitfire. Crossed.

Cold metal, hard lead.
Kneeling to the cock of a rifle you're fed.
My big bluff baby, my middle finger-cross.
My nixed. My 86'ed.
My late great loss.
I pulled the plug on our suicide machine.
I shot the moon as the suicide king.
My big bluff baby, my middle-finger cross.
You were just a hack with a butcher's touch.
My jarhead vessel that though too much.
Just a two-bit yes man.
Just a free ride and a big scam.
I've been crossed out

(Thanks to hard_dude for these lyrics)