| Disposed and cast aside I’m out on the street
|
| No shirt on my back, No shoes on my feet
|
| I’m not the victim I’m the one that’s to blame
|
| Never repented or tried to change
|
| This is the life I’ve chosen, it’s who I am
|
| A muttering imbecile with a spliff and a can
|
| As I bring up black matter, they look on repulsed
|
| Spilling my cider as my body convulses
|
| 20 Bensons and a bottle of White Lightning
|
| I’m gonna get dead or I’m gonna die trying
|
| No will to stop or intention of abstaining
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| A drink of this quality for me’s life sustaining
|
| Pure golden nectar trickling over my tongue
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| Filthy grey smoke coats my tumour filled lungs
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| Drenched in my own sick, blood, shit and piss
|
| Shivering in terror I await the next hit
|
| As I bring up black matter, they look on repulsed
|
| Spilling my cider as my body convulses
|
| 20 Bensons and a bottle of White Lightning
|
| I’m gonna get dead or I’m gonna die trying
|
| For emetic substances I crave and I hunger
|
| But I’m beaten to a pulp, left to rot in the gutter
|
| 20 Bensons and a bottle of White Lightning
|
| I’m gonna get dead or I’m gonna die trying |