royally fucked

i've never know anyone who died and regretted it.
her pussy was candy paint red.  it's called opening up.
my weight isn't a problem anymore.  i fit into my shit,
and i can still wedge a space in any couch if need be.
hear me down a gulf stream of coors.  turn up the ac.
this isn't a big idea.  it's a small one that won't die.
i'm trying to find the quiet space in hardcore,
and i'm getting laid all the time, beer or no beer.
if there is any constant in life, then that's it.
everything will happen regardless of yourself.
and a hundred generations of sad motherfuckers
to analyze it over and over and over and over,
til there ain't shit where it was, and our kids are just that.

writhe above

society thinks they're cool
but they can't shop for themselves

smash your skull
i call that a fucking jump cut

my name is joe
and you're friends with me now

i don't have a hair cut
it's all fucking mange to me

deep shit vol 8

i got that super if you int'-indo, gets my fair share
more powder, dough -- nuts than the bimbo bear
we wrench with the humidity like some smog in the air
got the planet hot like a rock, got the scene by its pair
a new pair on the feet on the deck, candy paint shoes
a new snare on the beat on the deck, workin the 1, 2's
you washed up, we washed down like cheap booze
they call us marines because we straight cut crews
they call us marine because we leave a smoke ocean
excuse me, bartista, while i whip up some purple potion
let the tape ride on til a nigga speaks in slow motion
swap sides, man, we ash so much we need lotion.