Count your blessings
Hack the brute
Cash into the voodoo peasant
Coos the hellish
"A dumb dumb fool am I
Adam you crumb, bum, go on n shoot the sky"
True, its I there all along, huh
It's okay, you can eat the filet but
Spit the Tibula n suck out the marrow
Get the drink from QT and gas from Valero
Care not, Boromir to doornails
Bored in their horrid corridor like
Back room asses who love the misery
Like cringy N9na hometown bizzizay is the
Wack... the way he doesn't even like to smile
Pete's sake good inside like pop tarts
While, me, I'm tight as fuckin Walmart
Call Paul Blart and chase the awful out
Fix or repair daily Jim, he's dead
You can say it of the zed in my head
In my bed where I left all the lead and extra mends
You can say I'm deluded bet I'm ahead like
Real shit ain't feeling good
Heal, bitch, you better would
You're in the logical crawdad jus pinchin
For inches of the minuscule isn't
Wicked, doin dishes 24/80 mentally
He's in enemy as a little bitchy boy
Elbow pads for crying but mine are for praying to myself I got a kneeler, weirdo
I know it's weird to say it,
But I love myself and its wavey
You cant convince me this ain't healthy like homeopathy
It's I gotta be or imma body, be
No comments:
Post a Comment