Comfort of the Devil Lyrics

COMFORT OF THE DEVIL
(Tyla)

I found myself in the comfort of the southern again
Hell is coming to breakfast, you better make some s***e
The devil runs his fingers down the spine of fate
Grins at me with a smile that spells out hate
Spins his chamber of his gun
There's only one soul loaded for fun
Much more fun
It's much more fun, much more fun
Much more fun, much more fun
In the comfort of the devil again

Slides his pistol of sin over to me
I c*** the trigger, close my eyes and I count to three
I squeeze tight wham, bam, bang, oh, dear me
What do you say we make it best of three
Spins his chamber of his gun
There's only one soul in it for fun
Much more fun
It's much more fun, much more fun
Much more fun, much more fun
In the comfort of the devil again