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Walking in the subway
Alone late at night
New York city gangs
Everywhere in sight

Your fell their anger upon you
You feel their hateful eyes
Walk a little faster now
You're fighting for your life

As they walk on closer
Their eyes burn down your back
You feel a thousand cries
Not prepared for their attack

A mission bell sent sign
A sign that you board soon
You've come this far, no turning back
We hope you make it too

Don't expect, sympathy
We don't know, the word
Your walked my turf, insanity
But in this place you die

Your life is wasted
Your blood is tasted
As it drips down the blade

You didn't make it
You couldn't take it
You walked the subway you paid

Your money's gone
Your clothes they're torn
You're lying in a pool of blood

You know you're leaving
We watch you grieving
But in this place you die

Don't expect sympathy
We don't know the word
You walked my turf, insanity
But in this place you die

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Written by: Randall Shawver / Tom Schaffer. Isn't this right? Let us know.