Just when you thought it was safe
To take a leisurely stroll
You got shot in the face
By a demon you know
You could have saved like a dollar in change
In high school, you were the man
Now you’re a target today

My condolences, honest mistake
Every one of god’s children needs a Glock at the waist
Wishing I could just wander in space like I Jonathan Frakes
I’mma play the blues ‘til this ol’ harmonica breaks

‘cause they’re locked, loaded, lethal
On some pop goes the eagle
Itchy fingers that’ll put a pothole between you
But trust the Founding Fathers
Nah, fuck the Founding Fathers
‘cause they ain’t ever find a way to stop owning people

Now my pulse racing to the moon like Guarana
Trying to find the secret in the Moonlight Sonata
And a few pints of lager in my run down world
While these uptown girls ask, “Have you tried Kabbalah?”

They do lines on top of the lucite inside of the green room
Always got a gospel to read you
Clear the cobwebs or they’re not gonna need you
They want something new that their nostril can bleed to
The Archangel of the R train playing on a harp made
Of pieces of his scarred brain; insomniac
Sleeping on a carpe diem ‘til no diem's left to carpe
Screaming give my body back, living off of body fat
Money in my waistband, hustle ain’t a game plan
Maybe I should just pop a Molly first
Fuck it, I’ll be huffing on a spray can, summoning the Day Man
Y’all ain’t even qualified for Charliework

But you probably want to party with a starlet in Ibiza
Like Polly wanna cracker or Polly’s calling PETA
I'm Rowdy Roddy Piper shouting onomatopoeia
‘til my people come together like the unibrow of Frida

Well, can we get along? That ain’t so bloody likely
I’m analyzing every jagged angle of my psyche
So maybe I could figure out why ain’t nobody like me
I blame it on the fact that there ain’t nobody like me

All it takes is a roll of the dice or flipped quarter
For a kid born with the disorder of Chris Dorner
To inflict horror upon us so switch formulas up
Or get formal attire ‘cause I expect to live shorter

But I still got the strength that my mother granted
That helped me eat the knuckle sandwiches and double standards
I’ll never understand the underhanded
You can play the role of Son of Sam, I’mma be the son of Sanford
You gotta choose between the bleeders and mosquitos
The name’s Soul Khan but my homie calls me Mito