You can rot in Hell
Freedom to the Lancers
Who work for their meal
Pillage, pilfer, and steal
The heart from your chest
Stick it to their ear
Just to hear it stop

Suffocate one last breath
Relinquish all the rest
So your skeleton walks around in a pit of disease
Dragging skin behind like a bride’s gown
And all the Propellerheads can’t help but frown

Catatonic frenetic orgy
Poisoned with bad blood
Seeps into the crevice so deep
It brings back the end
Brings out yer dead

Insane mamas on the street
Slinging ghetto rhyme at me
Like ‘B’ware the wrist!’
I check them one, two
And bring back the end

Careful the wrist
We all mean to do the best
But some of us just can’t seem to get it straight
And crumble

Invariably trite
That’s what they’ll say
But what do they know?
Through what crevice so deep
Have they seeped to fulfill
The bringing back of the end?

Catatonia, and I am filled with only my persona
No master, no believer
I am neither the hero nor the deceiver
So accept what I am
Because it is rigid
And that’s what you’ll get
When I’m slinging it to ya’