(Hello. "Who are you?" An angel. "What's your name?" Satan. Hello, what's the matter? "Nothing, only it sure is a sorry name for an angel." Oh wow, please come in.)
Nylon mask, code tech nine
I'll blow wet dry on them O.X.Y.s
Oaks behind viles and froze french fries
Phone dead line
Rob homes then go get high
I throw hex signs, occult wet life
f** a G6 I'm fly like OX5's
Broke, bed lice
Your crib is dope, scope the Rolex by the rose hedge-line
I dope den mine
I snatch out your heart, where the home is
I got this rap like it's rodive
You don't know what rogue is
I did random violence when I was homeless
I was the artist failed suicide attempts like Van Gogh did
Looking at modern clubs like orgies with the Romans
I swear my style has to be chiralas coded
You won't get it til you realize that you know it
Haven't seen me at a show that's because I'm multiphobic
Usually on some sort of psychoactive doses at shows feeling the voltage
Cult sh**, riding this track to the ground on a horse with its throat slit
I'll bask and shark an LSD ocean
And walk the seabed like some sort of acid head Moses
I now spit fumes after being baptized twice in piss pools
Dismal, got my flow back from the gods, had to bring forth the head of Vishnu
I bite off fist rules
I piss like Don Rickle
With the raper's wit sharp like Kaczynski's sickle
Sip liquid anti-psychotic symbol
In the hospital bib and sit and dribble