These razorblades seeking new skin
Out your bleeding, dress up those wounds like ballerinas
These crazy days, peep the news print
Crowds of demons, bodies houses for foul diseases
These mainstream changelings
I put no trust on them
They say that trends will save me
So I pray that I’m up on them
They want to fuck with my babies
Then I’ll roll up and buck on them
It’s twenty lashes just for dummy practice
They say Slump is magic but Sape’s unimaginative
I want to see twenty racks when I lift up the mattress
And that’s real talk
Put up your digits for worship
While I dream of no plastic
I’m trying to make perfect
So no time for no practice
I don’t kick it with urchins
Oh no, I’m on some grown man shit
It’s too late now
I don’t know what to do
It’s too late now
I don’t know what to do
I stay up late now
And shoot antique guns at the moon
Doot doo doot doo, I better lay down