Concrete heat and a shadow on the lawn,
Something’s looking right but everything is wrong.
He’s creeping through the yard with a tactical chest,
Bulletproof curves in a floral-print vest,
Double-D danger, a ballistic disguise,
Hiding the heat from the neighbors’ eyes.
Trespasser’s fashion, a silicone trick,
But the safety is off and the rhythm is quick.
Oh, it’s a Florida silhouette,
A loaded secret you won't forget,
Braided with metal, padded with lead,
A prosthetic warzone inside of his head.
He’s packing the plastic, he’s holding the line,
In the land of the wild where the sun doesn't shine.
Nine millimeter under the lace,
Wrong kind of contour, wrong kind of place.
Blue lights flashing on the property line,
Your undercover bust just ran out of time.
Book him for the trespassing.
And keep the receipts for the upgrade.
