Tekst piosenki
These bootlick limerick rappers young and old
Don’t speak passionswag, fashion, and gold
They speak not for themselves; they let their soul be sold
They’ve been told and fed lies
Expecting nothing but good not preparing for the worst
Quenched their lust for fame, but left unquenchable thirst
I guess it’s true when you say you get more flies with honey
Abuse and use this little rap shtick
And if I’m ill for hating this, then I’d rather be sick
A
I’m the weak-willed worm antidotes can’t purge
The burn that I feel giving into the urge
I yearn for what’s real, but guilt start to surge quick
Blood like an oil spill, inside of my head’s Sick
Sick and misguided, majority dark side
In it is confided the lore of ill archives
Finite and scarred, my heart’s like bark hide
And grace is a far cry, I failed from the start, I
Don’t really care why things happened this way
Yearly elected captain of the Faggot Brigade
And I’ve had it today; I don’t care what they say
I’d rather be a real failure than fakely okay?
I’m the necro with a habit of encountering graveyards
Hit the rich crypts, like my dick was a radar
Bitches start to flock ‘cause they know that I pay hard
I’m chillin’ at the top, while you’re stuck at a gay bar
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