Monday, January 17, 2011
c2 Decks
Monday, December 6, 2010
This will...or wont.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
BTM FDR
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Tilt (FTW)
Four pounds of power in my pocket
Pretending to be knowledge
Far from college in an office building
Blaming every soul for this misinterpretation of a body
Fuckin faggot fakers
Flyin kites overhead
Tied to a list of regrets
Fishing for dead thoughts
With red snot staining my keds
I wish that a wish was real so I
Could explain to these bums
How they really feel
A barrel full of limbs just smellin
Like a fist full of skin
Ready set go
On ya mark too slow
Panting from the little light show
Presperation, hesitation, read the statement
After I bled the waitress
She said the same shit
I cant believe this
I need to releive this
My physical form is stuck to the door
Your face is the floor
So ill step on you til you believe this
One, two , three, four
Countin’ the shells as they kiss the morgue
So fear this shit
Cause tonight will cut you down to
The fuckin core.
Physical temperament filled by
The injections of a whippet rip
Shaking like the cornered cat ready
To take his nine lives and walk away
Everyone is just a stray from the
Everyday analysis of this rage
I will go back in time and
Fight back the urge to feel bad
For spittin this rhyme at you
Like I meant to
I hope it burns through
The madness and encourages The sadness
fall back off this mattress
cause you don’t mean a lick to me
you were nothin but a dick to me
wouldn’t piss on you to put you out
cause we both know you wouldn’t even sizzle