It’s the bottom feeder boys, pulling up half blasted. Booted off the bottle, toppled on bad acid... My raps? Classic... Your raps? Whack shit. I can tell your flag’s half massed, you’ve half assed it. I want all the puff puff pass it, need the smoke it helps me cope. (I WANT IT ALL!) Come get these demons off me, someone call the pope. I’ve been sippin holy water, huffing holy smoke. Give life the cold shoulder, death the okiedoke. Look, it’s Mr. Made-It-Out-Alive! Pray for all my friends sleeping in soil, just to pass the time. Saying I’m a seance, they live through me until the casket’s mine… Fuck…