Living in this home, the first class slum,
Big holes like bullets in the concrete walls,
In the aisles lies the broken furniture,
Some are destroyed by the cause of my anger,
Times when I get annoyed by these fools,
Fist down the door just because I am loose,
Mattresses wreak the stink, perspire,
Old coil stove reincarnation, old wires,
Coil probably go off when plugged in, blunt surprise,
Bathroom to explain right now is your demise,
Dirty clothes on the dusty separated dinner table,
Destroyed dresser with adult roaches, they fly,
Rats appears in every corner of my eye,
Creaking closets is where they hide,
Retarded bro treat the place like the dump,
Mess also from the pets of my drunk bro,
Destroyed Bass Set I destroyed with the shovel,
Contain a 9mm Luger for my struggle,
My clean clothes belong in a upside down sofa,
That's why most times I hangout on the roof,
Probably because I just know I'm a goon,
Smoke because of the presence seen by my conscience,
And the stress, depressed and being repressed,
Probably because I don't talk like the press,
Saying I'm okay, one day I'll sleep on the deck,
I'm okay I won't roll off the dusty ledge,
To say that the stars are my friends,
Yes because they understand what it's like to feel better in my emote self,
Probably I don't seem myself exist in this realm,
Just dreamt that my life in the tulip bed with them meds,
Or my ashes taken by the waves off the sands.