dead history. All my thoughts of are dirt Scattered on a coffin. And I a dilettante funeral spectator here. How should I presume? A besuited bourgeois mourner, Virgin to surrender and
and human, Have been unscrupulously exploited. Peoples' pride and dignity is burnt in Napalm And hand-held flame-throwers. The poor and underprivileged
ins and the outs to you buddy I know where you live, and how you make your money I came to violate you, desecrate you, I create two Murderous scenes,
resources, both mineral and human, Have been unscrupulously exploited. Peoples' pride and dignity is burnt in Napalm And hand-held flame-throwers. The poor and
shit And have you murderin your biatch, violently I've been keyed for 20 minutes and feel like killin Loadin that milli-milli its that infant killa Nigga
future days But the dead is schooling me, my thoughts are jewelry So hopefully longevity my creativity is appraised Everytime I flow, whether fast or slow I illustrate and
that we create I orchestrate throughout the night and congregate with killers Watchin' fake MC's evacuate the premises BLAH it's too late Another murder
deadly nights Dead murderers stretch the death rate to express stress and hate Mental activity, the style of potential that's a left To infinity, and
us, time to become aware and trust Nothin' that's presented by government sponsored media Spendin' more money on prisons and wars than on schools And
