Iâll cup your neck like a cup oâ joe.Yeah, warm and sweet and soft and slow.Or pinch it, swish, get the smelland down like wine.But if bourbonâs the mooda short shot takes no time.The shot will be a stab.The kiss, a killerâs kiss.The grab will be a stab.The kiss, a killerâs kiss.I wanna be a pal.There are confidantes fewwith ears so open andhands so true.You can count on me butwatch your math.If you donât carry this oneIâm a wiz at subtracting.The cut will come in a flesh,just like a killerâs kiss.The grab will be a stab.The kiss, a killerâs kiss.So purse your lips,and close your eyes.Feel your heels rise and fallto the killerâs kiss.So purse your lips,and close your eyes.Take in the quick breathof traitor caught.The killerâs kiss.You think Iâm blindto you midnight moves.Well my sites are set âinfrared hot mood.Mistakes can be made;If you only knew.The knife would turn thosered lips blue.Turn around, see the headlightâs glarefrom the killerâs kiss.The grab will be a stab.The kiss, a killerâs kiss.