[Verse 1: LORD LOONEY]
Cause the weed took my best friend
Took a year, up to here 'til the mess end
It appear to do sh** for depression
Yet the music a useful tool to invest in too
Rust stains on the razorblades
That's what they say to Mom when she raises a-
Eyebrow or two, when you hide in the gloom
All the blinds in the room are down, I a**ume
You gaze into space, and you plague in the pain
And you pray for the same thing: a day of amazement
A feeling of gain, still baked in the basement
Wonder where the f** all the pain or the days went?
Gun pressed to the crest of my head
Maybe love will take effect when the restroom is red
And I never even rest when I rest in my bed
So it's best if I nest in the guestroom again
No pen, no hope-
It came to be...
Cause there ain't no cake in the 803
It's a lotta false face in the 803
It's a lotta bald hate in the 803
And I kinda lost faith in the 803
And I kinda stopped waiting on the 803
Got a mind to hock hate at the 803
Then I realize all this is fate
It's paved for me
[Hook: Anonymous Owls]
Love
Though it wrecks and amuses
It only comes true when it stems from the music
Hate
It dwells in my senses
Pencil me a check for a cell in the sane head
Pain
It grows from the hunger
Of f**in' the game, chuckin' blame 'til the sun up
And love
Only know it exists
When a puddle comes up as it flows from your wrists
X2
[Verse 2: LORD LOONEY]
From a city where the music dips
Like the crews that'll usually do the sh**
And if you ain't got a crucifix around your neck
Your kind loses; get crucified against
I don't call myself a Christian
I call myself a human
And life's a selfish mission
To question what we're doing
What if we never find the answers
And the whole thing is useless
I glide in panoramas
As I hope I soak in lupus...
The school kids' stupid, never stooped to 'em
Too busy movin' a pendulum induced rhythm
Get 'em son, Poppa dubbed-
Me upper to the popular
Soppin' up the rotten thoughts
And drop 'em in the prophet's cup-
Pretentious, never been the goal
A menace, been the cynical-
Ripper of the centerfold-
Since I felt the inner glow-
Dribble out as I grew up
Fiddle doubt as I threw up-
My middle finger, spittle out-
A riddle, bit 'em, k**ed the doubt
Appear a bit lost in the nonsense...
Ear to the conch, it's the sound of my conscience
Pounding at the launch pad, watch this-
Wonder where the cops at? Not missed
Suffice with a tendency to coward
And I never count stacks, but I'm stacking up a counteract
f** life, and everything about it
Shout that from the mountaintop ya'll surrounding at...
[Hook: Anonymous Owls]
(repeat)