My name is Mister Forty-Seven,
There is no place for me in Heaven.
My stylish tie is red like blood.
My shiny shoes don't walk on mud.
My voice is sharp, my touch is cold.
My suit flaps open, gloves unfold.
Twin silver guns, my tools of trade.
They do the job, and I get paid.
I have no friends, I live alone.
In this strange world I don't belong.
I have no rights, I'm someone's clone.
I have no sense of being home.
My name is Mister Forty-Seven,
There is no place for me in Heaven.
My life is really not that funny.
Don't give me pity - pay me money.
