My 16s got the imagery of a sick fiend
Or its an orchestra of carca**es picked clean
Scoring the story of this author. I spit scenes
The speed of mine is red line like an inf beam
f** a cool whip; I ain't about quick cream
But you probably don't get what that sh** means. Simply
The government manufactures the doe
Out of thin air to keep us trapped in a hole
We owe the i,m, and f
Trillions while american families keep writing their checks
To pile up the debt while we stay up in a police state
God help us if they decide to collect
With their guns kicking open our doors
So i react like toussaint louverture over this overture
Throw 'em overboard
At the white house like "what you think this gas and the torch is for? n***a, war