I think that um, um there are more people that are bad than there are good
I feel miserable when I'm bad


Yo' yo;
Every dialectic shapeshift's a makeshift shield of hatred
I spit fire

Quick fire
Twist fire
Rollin' roach from a ripped flyer

Tip toeing over ego trip wire
Soft steppin' on eggshells as hell beckons
A bed of black rose petals on my twenty second

With twenty seconds on the clock I kept many guessin'
A game of death threats met with defiance so
I bring stones for the riots

While the right side of the brain extends through computer science
Flicks fictionalise our lives
In alliance with the Queen in the core of the hive

Breeding parasites
The wise read and !@#^yse the scrolls
Stolen souls dissolve in alcohol

Master drunken pole
A cold-hearted defence in this dungeon hole
I hold hope for the globe in a closed palm

Locked in a gold heart
Lost and emotionally charged
I chart progress

Through this pain staking process
Elimination of the grotesque no less
This overblown mess left grown men stressed and suicidal

Cyanide drips from the vinyl
My vital signs fade
I'm trapped in a pessimist mind-state

A frozen emotional ice age

You can't be everywhere at once doing everything for everybody

Everybody can't get what they want
It mean that they...
Everybody can't get what they want


Yo'
My words form pictures

Jigsaws built from torn scriptures
A warped image
A collage of small figments

Inter-related
Creative with raw English
I walk with born sinners who talk business

(Yeah, yeah, how much?)
Subs and permanent fixtures
Medicine man sippin' elixirs

Wettin' my lips and lickin' the Rizlas
Listening to enemy transmissions
Sittin here pickin' the splinters out of my flesh

The fresh script inker
Indica stick sticky finger
Balanced on the brink of drinking binges

While friends sink syringes
Into their skin and it could all end in an instance
With no-one to discipline the infants

Walking the ledge
I stay nimble as ninjas
My pen nib inches

Closer and closer
Ghosts in my dome stay closed in a coma
Crows overhead

Twisted as the trail we tred
Most failed or fled
Ended up jailed or dead

But never me
Eyes in the back of my head
For any enemy

Ready for them backstabbers
Suited and booted on this black Sabbath
Truly polluted by the pain

I paint the blues on a blank canvas
We're all judged by the same standards
Saints, gangsters, to base heads in St. Pancras
It's plain madness
My brain strains to make sense of

We blaze ten spots
This games deadlocked

He can see us whatever we do
What ever we do he has such...

And he can still see us when we're bad
And he can still see us when we're bad
I feel miserable when I'm bad
I think that um, um there are more people that are bad than there are good
And um, if you're good you'll live forever

And if you bad you'll die when you die