The Mack

The Mack : Lyrics and composition by Tristan Waterkeyn

Size doesn’t matter if you’re evil with a gun
He burnt his fingers pointing at the sun He don’t spend his days in heaven
Cause of what he did for fun, You know…
And his belly doesn’t matter if he’s evil with a gun
He say the extra weight helps him concentrate
With his toothless grin above his menacing double chin
All liquidized food is so easy to funnel in.

He says he used to be the ‘Mack’ you know.
Your main daddy’o.
Nobody gives him crap, or tells him where to go.
And he starts to loose the plot and so,
Your man is getting old.
He needs a little help getting out of all his clothes.
No he’s not paranoid, no.
There’s someone sneaking up behind him. No…

Hair doesn’t matter if he’s evil with a gun
Toupee over the top, don’t cover what he aint got.
And speaking aint big thing; he still tells a joke it, all sounds funny after you’ve had a stroke.
Don’t need your man of vision if he’s evil with a gun
Those eyes behind his head make it difficult in bed,
To keep track of his knee caps, he wont get them back.
But, he tells another story of how it used to be.