im fed up with life and a half empty stomach
not even enough money to wanna be summat
head in my hands, my palms sink into my eyes

thinking im alive next thinknig i should die
everything crime that ridicules my mind
like my families struggle's the only thing that fuels my life

been in so much trouble, going to hell and back
could photograph the tracks by my legs and that
why does my chest and heart have my head attached

because i sleep on dead memories in a bed of ash
a fine here, not fine with a lame existence
only stealing because my friends stayed persistent

question everything and what it have brought you
reality turns to theft and then to lawsuits
starting fights with people that i hardly knew

im really not the good guy that you think you talk to