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Gangfight of Cliches
It was the bloodiest spectacle I'd ever seen
Clichés fighting each other to the death
Torn to bits
Riddled with holes...
Bored to tears used the cutting edge
To kill dead as a doornail
Make a killing
Passed away
At the hands of death's doorstep
For they were bored as boards of themselves
Tired of writers using them like whores
But they were gangbangers instead
Fighting over turf
Their little slices of heaven
Now they're all gone
It's sad, but true
And the winner is in the eye of the beholder
