| Pray tell me is or ain’t that face paint
|
| Do you raw or do you race trace
|
| If you take to take to takemake
|
| That there’s grave
|
| And snake’s you’re namesake…
|
| There’s no cops creeping in the jungle of bite
|
| And all things blues thief in the night
|
| Is you is or is you ain’t bright light…
|
| Can you be trusted to shame and honour load prose
|
| Or do you need to get named no
|
| And thrown back to the cold that came before
|
| Unamieded tourists in their painted forests
|
| Who take to take to whore it
|
| N poorly absorb this
|
| Here’s a theifing man’s grave
|
| A sampletimething
|
| A sisyphus deal zeal for meals
|
| And heart fangs
|
| Not the swallow of hollow quotes
|
| From cut-throats on strings
|
| So do you bright to kill light when you bang…
|
| So keep your teeth of our mark
|
| We forget to eat for our art
|
| Rawheat to the part
|
| No sheath on the heart
|
| Sleeping like sharks
|
| Despiteing the dark
|
| Where did it start
|
| And in the end it’s a spark
|
| In the clear and severe ear
|
| Of a peer spearing its fears
|
| A 100 years from here
|
| Chilled and tears to hear
|
| His sheer and near fall is steered
|
| So do you kill to just
|
| Well the ill
|
| Empty out and refill the pill
|
| With your will
|
| Or you bitch to bill
|
| Fuck a bill, burn a bill, hell on Earth a bill
|
| Curse a bill, cut a bill, hurt a bill
|
| Gut a bill, what a bill, can’t pill
|
| Is the will ill still spill kill
|
| This goes to those
|
| Overfroze hearted hoes with a
|
| Golden voice and bum nothing
|
| To their words but poor choice
|
| This goes hoist like
|
| Skull and crossed bones
|
| Before your Hollywood homes grown
|
| In the greased slick
|
| Sick of your least
|
| A most piteous
|
| Perk of the mark of the beast
|
| That eats good men out into a star on song streets
|
| This ain’t beef it’s called the truth in the air
|
| Proof to the square
|
| The present is rare
|
| At best and the rest
|
| Set against the breadth of
|
| All fruit to ever fall from your chest…
|
| And the might of the seeds
|
| In come time they had left…
|
| In other words
|
| You guilty of killing it or theft |