Jak Tripper - Botch lyrics

Yo life s**s, gypsy moths out my stomach My life has 30 percent of life, it lacks arms, strings and a few bu*tons I commit suicide at 65 percent, f** it the kids will love it I'm disgusted, art at the present is only self contained construction about which there is no more to be said of it I drew mud slick, drop of blue tremor linked to the ground by a magnetized gaze At dusk, snow over peaks of a summit Cotton wool-like, in my narcon encrusted blood pumps it takes the page when I cut it Catching inks with pots and buckets Beneath root flower and stone, I group a coven I lurk in fire damps and coal pits to canoe out the origins of your pungent Vein weeping at the focal point where your guts sit I diffuse elation and whatever sunlit What is rugged, this cuprous fertilize metal rusted I post up a collection of my life's work in a gallery to make it easy for you to pa** judgment My tongue drip, low-tide polluted bay water, salt spraying aerial like seagulls spit Eyes upon fisher, duckbill gullet My happiness is a mask under it I generate misery to sulk in, brilliant depression Ascended to music like Scott Walker sullen, slow and sluggish I kick Suffolks, oil spill tanker boat tugging Diluted water propulsion before punch ins The crowd nailed me to a cross I am emotional numbness, nocturnal vampiric dust drift In a dim lit cafe, this beating it downer, writing to the ludes tank Punch rap's balloon face I figure evolution before I lose face Stone carving a new slate, digging is a mutate And carry my two hemispheres in a suitcase I told watch the nerves, like a paper knife endive in the noose frame Me and this game as a razor blade in a fruitcake They're all poets, writers, diplomats, and dress makers trying to move brakes I k** future art with ease sh** I'm on causes black suited narcs to creep I drop cellular metals and of cryptograms hysterical paranoia starts to seep Rush surges of melting face images under the bark of trees I litter state parks with crystal meth shard debris I'm sulked in depression with a pad, the artist weeps Dead tired but off the charts asleep Spider crawl filthy cerebral saliva, wash brain's harness leash