Untitled [song aired on American Nightmare Show (Episode 1)]

(There is no world large enough to ?? plan happiness. Forget how wide and empty a brass bin can be. Alone again this Sunday morning. I awaken to children who ?? in alleyways, accompanied by taxi horns and people I can hear but not see. A dingy sunlight highlights dirty window panes.)



These kids is dead

I put the bugs in its shell

?? Rosco, bugging himself

You think I'm wack? Yo you ain't bugging yourself

You be shoveling your guts in yourself

Dead in a casket, arms crossed like you hugging yourself

No doubt son, I bury rappers out in the desert til holes crowd up

Jump on the lawnmower, face the blades out

With the crown up

Suck onto his chest ??

I gourd out lungs

I'll grind into oatmeal and goat chowder

Flow a coked out buzz

Slug hook and pellets jab

When that metal flash I'll lift his head off his neck, straight up like his neck was a helipad

Ghetto jungle gym, bars crooked

Spark kush bliss

Anarchist cook booklet

Bars wooden on fire like church burnings

Learning the shadow's art, dark hooded

Tongue sharp like a zipper

I part hoods with punchlines like Hellboy's fist, I smash car hoods in

Clap close range, whole face black sooted

Native savage, turn your back, ax put in

I'm dirtier than my piss test, Doc Gooden

I'm from the hospital sticking the doc for lock goodness