Pulp Fiction

You can call me by name - Mr. Black.
That's a Glock 17 up your back.
You're a reservoir cur,
Who'll address me as sir,
Cause I'm someone who don't give a jack.

You imagined that you were the boss.
And just who did you think you would cross?
Twenty kilos, we're tight;
But you've ended up light,
Now a kilo ain’t all that you’ve lost.

There's your natural place, on your knees.
Did you think you might run to police?
Read my clips, read my gun:
You can’t hide, you can’t run.
So you keep your mouth shut. Pretty please.

Boom boom pow, now your right ear’s a hole.
Just be glad I’ve left most of you whole.
Next time things are unclear
Finger that souvenir.
Drive the highway, have change for the toll.

So remember who’s watching your back;
I’m your friend, while our friendship’s on track.
Now get up, shake this hand,
It’s just business, my friend.
And remember the name – Mr. Black.
.....