Machetes chop Wool catches dew Knives sharpened On stones Dirty palms Cup streams to lips Smoke scented Tools I want to practice bushcraft And leave this sh** behind I want to practice bushcraft And leave this f**ing sh** f** your city planning You clones are too demanding Your hopes are set as high As these yuppies' f**ing homes I'll fall trees for shelter Eat foraged food forever And sleep next to fires And breathe the open air