I feel like God has a hitman She's thin and she's blonde and she smokes She lives in a walk-up in Flatbush And she's always in on the joke She's just the right flavor of fucked up A sick bird who still gets you hard I make myself into her victim She's just firing wild in the dark Maybe she'll be your karma Or maybe you'll always win Maybe God don't need to hire a hitman For me to die for you again God has a hitman, I've seen her He designed her just for me She's everything I never was, so She's all that you wished I could be She writes you as a gentleman And I'm eating it up like a fool Like I didn't already have you Like I'm not still cleaning the wounds And maybe she'll be your karma Or maybe you'll always win Maybe God don't need to hire a hitman For me to die for you again Hope I'm not the only one walking With shrapnel still lodged in my head Hope you feel half of what I did I hope she leaves you for dead And one day, God won't try to test me With hitmen with fine golden hair Yeah, maybe she'll give you your karma But one day, I won't even care