deciding whether to go in and tell the truth, or be a lair,
write my lyrics on my pad, pad my on lyrics my write,
wondering if i should see my dad, but nah my mums probably rite,
a selfish little kid, once i was growing up,
all the trouble i did, not once landed in some cuff,
so now im here, and im gonna tell my lifes story,
sit back crack a beer, or go to the corner grab a 40,
coz ive been sitting on this couch, improving all my lyrics,
imma jump inside a joeys pouch, and wait for the critics,
to crush me, at the first chance that they get,
its not going to effect me, its gonna brake out like veit,
killing all these Vietnamese,
as the little children fall into the muddy surface on there knees,
no remorse, for all the trouble that i am causing,
that blood is sause, thats just thick red paint falling,
What do you guys think, its a completely diff style from my previous work
