| Petrified in these cocoons, Cenobites still eat my soul
|
| Anesthetize to heal the wounds get so high can’t feel the lows
|
| Blunt smoke filling up my lungs until the sun gone
|
| Guns drawn covered in this blood like I was Bloodborne
|
| Petrified in these cocoons Cenobites still eat my soul
|
| Anesthetize to heal the wounds get so high can’t feel the lows
|
| Blunt smoke filling up my lungs until the sun gone
|
| Guns drawn covered in this blood like I was Bloodborne
|
| Staining tulips with the cyanide
|
| Riding shotgun making music for the drive-bys
|
| No survivors no goodbyes when the ocean rises
|
| Locusts fly when I quote my lines polarized
|
| Watch me when I haiku my discography’s the Bible
|
| Is it decide if he confides he’s talking suicidal?
|
| Walking into cyclones my tornado halo’s filled with bees,
|
| Barking like I bite though my volcano halo kills the sheep
|
| Petrified in these cocoons, Cenobites still eat my soul
|
| Anesthetize to heal the wounds get so high can’t feel the lows
|
| Blunt smoke filling up my lungs until the sun gone
|
| Guns drawn covered in this blood like I was Bloodborne
|
| Petrified in these cocoons Cenobites still eat my soul
|
| Anesthetize to heal the wounds get so high can’t feel the lows
|
| Blunt smoke filling up my lungs until the sun gone
|
| Guns drawn covered in this blood like I was Bloodborne
|
| Victorious in my gory glory flow is glorious
|
| Baccalaureate story of a Poet Laureate
|
| Euphoria pouring out my pores until the worry sets
|
| Morph aporias until the boring gets harmonious
|
| My clips weight a ton so I know we’re not the same
|
| Either stick to your guns or you can point em at your face
|
| I was born a tragic summer bore from storms and crashing thunder
|
| Mastered nothing but I bask in BloodBorne so that’s the hunter |