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i think I'm ready to quit |
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commercials sets the precedent |
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the truth is ruthless with the smoothest of pestilence |
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i tried to finger point what ashes to anoint |
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till i found allow that couldn't strip joint at the hip |
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selling point was demographics |
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the younger the better, your brother would sell' er some antics |
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antics, zany is the brain you get de-fried |
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but the companies are hungry for this distant design |
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or the youth culture supulca, two users |
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and doomed futures, an industry for the heartless business man |
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business plans are in-demand but this man be drastic |
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cause they're nothing more American |
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than smoking someone's bones from out the closet |
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they probably just have decapitated names |
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cold-gated scums with that home on the range |
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pages of scripture about pain and evictions |
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with a field of caskets, a modern Damascus |
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into my abode humble |
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stumbling over opposing numbers |
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crumbled pillars under which a mother wouldn't know comfort |
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but let me get this straight, you seem to avoid the subject |
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of leaving zig-zag's in my room, how fitting, now getting upset |
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with the blue smoke floating in my attic |
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the window might be open but the epilogue is tragic |
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see, I'm not your average kid, ma |
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deader scene crowds slangin |
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dang it, my basement was a green house |
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hanging at my work bench, playing games, lighting matches |
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and sir, you don't have a job so your lighting the assets |
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I'm grinding my aspects i except this from your contest |
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the last cat in your line left my mother snowblinded |
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but coke floats...when your dealing with a dreamer |
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that man took her for a ride and left her at the cleaners |
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bad blood cousin, this is the last place i have left |
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and when i die i don't wanna choke on my last breath |
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New Jerusalem, i pass an alley with an only daughter |
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and a suit to use and hands to dip a jay in holy water |
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rolled with care, coin-instruction manual wrapping |
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for the blunt butts to come in this actual happening |
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she's lesser for knowing more |
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he just turns and says "probably" |
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drinks at elevation than what preserves dead bodies |
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and that's what she was doin, eyes that hope to learn |
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that the smoke had a voice, that burning bush that spoke to her |
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the door next to her was church for misdirected people |
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the ministers were on a chase that was less than steeple |
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evil pains, lastic gain, act so strange |
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that bearded old man seemed his being was inside stained glass |
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i look away hear doctors asks infected patients |
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for cash to scratch like they were passing collecting plates |
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my boy "Chuckles" quietly claim me "it's only dope |
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it doesn't make frankincense |
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it's holy smoke" |
