MISSION STATEMENT:
To own your souls
To pawn your bodies for a ride
To have them, in all of my whips
And snap your moral into the mechanical beating
8-o-8!
Yeats mode
‘Shroom-popping granny comes to cheer for me on a Monday
And the whole cave burps on [sic] – ‘are you okay?'
Join the move 'fore I leave your cadaver bleached out
Hung up in my white room,
exhibits supremacy
And I'm not here for tokens: I want the whole of you
You thought– and now, you're wrong
Cause I come from far and I drive alone
You wanna join 'fore you trespa**
Shotgun a tomb and ride the right a**
Still bopping, you've built me a pantheon
To store all the fame I'm edging on
To stack all the femmes I'm birthing from
To shadow the schooling I grew upon
To prove who was wrong
And what you lusted in me in the first place
Is exactly what you've always missed
Your lack of soul is exactly why you sought my hell
And funnily you keep on asking more
So I keep me coming – on that face of yours!
So stay still, steady, jiggy, ‘cause I prey upon
You!