One forty-five AM.
Chilly fall morning, in the South Bronx
A lady getting ready for her second job
She carefully pulls on the midnight colored boots, 
Lovingly screws on the silencer. 
Adjusts the bulletproof vest and the custom-made holster
Fire in her eyes, a clamp on the curvaceous lips
Fog on her mind, revenge on her fingertips

Now, the finishing touches, applied by rote
The blood red bandanna and ankle-length trench coat
A Bowie knife, the SPAS 15 and the grenades are 
on the table. Silent, chubby, deadly little bugs.
An extra clip for the Glock 17 and a
handful of “special” shotgun slugs.

Stands in the middle of the room and 
Objectively admires the woman in the mirror
Ghost of a smile, front and back
A lean, mean, gorgeous killing machine, resplendent in black
Cost her a small fortune, but she's not complaining
Hunters moon and it ain't raining

Delila is the name
Death is the game.

It ain't easy, being a vigilante.

The streets are fairly quiet 
As she strolls casually up the block 
The Deli at the corner is open, 
couple of bums drinking, there goes a beat cop
Made a left on Jackson Avenue and he was right there 
Peddling the usual goodies 
Cheap heroin and watered down crack.

What's up shorty?  
Got sumn for ya girl
Huge grin on his face, as he goes into his routine 
Finger on the trigger, she smiles right back
A single muffled shot 
Yeah, hook me up Negro.
Laughing out loud as his brain 
violently explodes into his afro

Three more like him in the next hour and 
just for kicks, some unlucky customers on the last stop 
Smiling all the time now, baby shop till you drop. 
Approaching Boston road…
Four dudes chillin around a brown SUV 
Sizing her up 
The radio is playing, sounds like hip-hop.

The smallest one got off the hood, they're teenagers
Hey baby, wana buy some weed?
Yeah, but I don't want no shit.
This is da bomb yo, grown indoors, you know, hydro?
One hit and you'll be feeling Irie!
He grins, as his beeper goes off, he checks it.
Shit it's my mom, turns around and her 
first shot blows out his left eye.
She empties the clip 
Sirens, five-o 
Damn, can't even watch the last one die

A little after four, thinking of calling it a night
Soft moans coming from the vehicle she just passed.
Jackpot!
Hooker at work, somebody getting grassed
Checked the door, its unlocked, flings it open.
What the?
Dead silence, as he makes eye contact with the shotgun

Don't shoot me lady! 
Take my money, I'm married baby
Got two young kids, I'm begging you, please...
Shut the fuck up fool.
Shot him twice, right between the knees.

The hooker is terrified and trembling 
It's not from the cold
Who are you, what do you want?
Fronting bold
Delila is the name honey 
Death is the game
Click!
Goddamn! 
Outta shots 
Gonna have to do the bitch by hand
Retrieves the Bowie.

Man, it ain't easy, being a vigilante

Four forty-five AM.
Chilly fall morning, in the South Bronx…
She's walking home from her second job

Vigilante