Lyrics:

Cage shares the story of his father, a former Military Police officer turned drug addict and wife beater, Bill Murray (not the actor).
Track 5 of Cage’s second album, Hell’s Winter.
Beer cans and cigarette butts cover the floor, day
Half gone, he sleeps, scared pregnant teen in the doorway
Watching him sleep, clutching her belly, little feet kick
To send the teen back to the toilet, spent her last week sick
When little Billy feed her ground up Jesus powder
Would’ve beat her louder if it would’ve pushed the fetus out her
Father in the making, crooked M.P. forsaken
The military cop that sells H to bring his cake in
She shaking, praying her labor kicks in before
The doors kicked in for them, brown bricks on the floor, I mean
She could tell you exactly how the gutter taste
Father to her kid in custody right when her water breaks
Snitched on his compadres for a few more runs, and the irony
In giving a stuffed rat to his newborn son
Dishonorably discharged, no jail time in court, told to
Pack his family up and go the fuck back to New York

Fuck Bill Murray, not the actor, the deadbeat dad
That smacked her then left her with rats after he snapped her
The bastard inventor that bent her backwards in winter
With her back against the wall, she can hear death singing in her
With her back against the wall, she still hear death singing in her
With her back against the wall, she still hear death singing in her

She’s scared to leave him, convinced somehow she really needs him
Back in New York, her prison of pain and Billy’s freedom
Holding her baby, he’d say crazy shit to break her. When she
Fell asleep, he’d escape her wit’s end and wouldn’t wake her
He’d sneak out, she’d wallow in it, role model to shit
That put his Christian scientist father in debt
Gave him his first stroke, he refused his medication ‘cause it
Went against his religion, he’d rather his Lord take him
Cue stroke number two and start withering his flesh, then lay
The emaciated World War II veteran to rest
Left his family debt, turmoil, and wreckage
And his grandson to scatter his ash over the U.S. Intrepid
Then little Billy plummet to his knees, still numb from it
Held his kid by his arm with a shotgun to his stomach
With threats to destroy what he created, get tucked away
When he looks in his son’s face and see he might grow up to say

Fuck Bill Murray, not the actor, the deadbeat dad
That smacked her then left her with rats after he snapped her
The bastard inventor that bent her backwards in winter
With her back against the wall, she can hear death singing in her
With her back against the wall, she still hear death singing in her
With her back against the wall, she still hear death singing in her
With her back against the wall, she still hear death singing in her
With her back against the wall, she still hear death singing in her

Needle through the skin again, injecting rust and cinnamon
Pull off the tourniquet, load up the shotgun and sentence them
He knows that there’s a bed in Hell waiting for him
But he ain’t been sane since he started huffing chloroform
With his shit decorum, he lets off shots, the neighbors say, “Shooters”
Into the phone to Middletown police and state troopers
While every family member on the premises runs from death
Greeted by dozens of officers with guns and vests
His suicide by cops, sweater on, “Get low”
Is told to the crowd watching him shoot through the window
His son clutched in his mother’s arms, unaware it’s the end
They bring him out in handcuffs but never to be seen again

Fuck Bill Murray, not the actor, the deadbeat dad
That smacked her then left her with rats after he snapped her
The bastard inventor that bent her backwards in winter
With her back against the wall, she can hear death singing in her