| Clouds approach
|
| As I move through towns and quote Latin texts found under Rome
|
| Swarming storms, I’m forming horns
|
| I’m pouring Os in styrofoam
|
| Ignoring hoes, I might go home
|
| Torn in two, the guts get thrown
|
| Them blunts get blown, afford it on my own
|
| Spend some money, now I’m broke
|
| I ain’t worried 'bout it though, I’ll get some later down the road
|
| Root of all that’s evil, I know
|
| Six-six-six times for my soul
|
| Slit my wrist, I’m sinking low
|
| Lit my list, I’m burning slow
|
| Wish for bliss, and turn to stone
|
| One time for the projects
|
| Two times for the 7th Ward
|
| Threes up for The Misfits
|
| $uicide, we can’t be ignored
|
| Smoke I be blowin', put holes in the ozone
|
| Ruby times $lick, we smoke out to the O gone
|
| Couple xan bars got me callin' to postpone
|
| This bitch who wanna fuck, but I can’t 'cause I’m so gone
|
| Unknown to the world you see, praised to by the six feet deep
|
| Run up if you wanna, keep a weapon on me
|
| Looking for the right one? |
| I’m the one you seek
|
| Slash, slash, cut, cut
|
| Cock back—buck, buck!
|
| Claim that you was rough, but now you all shot up
|
| Said that you was tough, but now you all roughed up
|
| Triple six killers, and they all fuck-ups |