Sangre

[Boxguts]



Cannon cattle and farm stock

Ham on the hock, car hand chop and spatter the smock

Arms locked like a gun jam

I'm just warming up like a tortoise kicking back on top of it's shell relaxed catching a sun tan

When shit gets real, it's like a little baby smoking a splif watching hardcore porn and shit, born in a drug den

Pouring blood red floods of ants from my mouth

When I shout I'ma spout of endless cow killers from Bugland

Speech unleash the beast I gleek goliath beetles and feast on meats of crushed lambs

Black hockey puck slam fast into grills

Dripping ill for real

That's a slapshot to peel tops, spillin rotten, crunch heads

The dumb hot skills dumping lead, when I scribble something dead

Popping off on sharp pencil points floppin, sopping proper

What was not written probably have ripped n sloppily stuck then



[Jak Tripper]



Everything's been said let's hug the rope

I splatter brain matter to hummus batter running out onion slow

This mis-cut low five style in technicolor row

Eight millimeter rails with watermarks stashed on disclosed

Pour your essence and dim some, dim son saying Jak hung his coat

Fuck this I'll cut his whole fucking tongue and nose into chicken cutlets cold

I'm plugged in stuck in this puppet show

In the church like Rutledge

The second I get of sulfur in the wind I'm shooting and driving

Looting with goons and more rolls than Lucifer rising

Bright and psychic, I feel I'm due for The Shining

Every drop shake waters under the house bolts enough to loosen the sidings

This is a drug summer, moody control your sun structure

Literally drug summer

From in bloom on the roof snow crust covered I think hard