My birthstone was a crack rock, fiends be looking for that heroin blacktop.
in a discarded matchbox, innards require mad shots, of the new drug of their bad block
whatever it was it made me this lazy, crazy crack baby tactically and flack to be, a rude rhyme masterpiece, and master of souls and blackened suns, thats used to a clack and run. Illegal maybe cerebral
caking with filled thoughts of money taking, to summon these cowards and the daughter raping, need the brain feed, of these coked and hazy, and hope for daydreams, to work for me they way they didn't while the addicts pile mad heads in a dealers kitchen, so here just listen, when the crack slightly misted, it was my right and life specific, when its hit it, was start of me i guess what i hate is a part of me, but regardless these, parents were wrong, but better yet drugs can make a song and tell of outcomes that were fucked and such, much more than a tucked blunt, im talking syringes pills spoons and dishes,
binges downhills that move the centric, and to prove i meant it im alive right, i guess i should live the "high" life. but enough with the mumbling jabbing and jerking quick to get the hurtin on parents that close the curtains, on kids lives to hit nips with tinfoil combined like their Maguyver in their prime,
trying raving and ranting for frivolous shit while kids pleading the fifth i feel reaching for it, the shotgun of course so i can pop my remorse