I take a pigsticker up in my id and tell myself to go to sleep
To take a nap
I wind my neck back in and soak up all the sounds I hate till poetry happens
Poetry happens
If you need me I'll be heaped hoping I don't end up in the bughouse
The nutter butter box
I drippin' with some fungus ugly as all fuck but its getting fun now
Here's your fucking drop
Here's your fucking drop
Here's your fucking drop

Pull up my roots and dethorn my little brain, huh? brain, huh?
Take a whiff and I spit your pretty face off, face off

Its splintering in headache city getting deeply undermined
My shit is real fucked up
I giggle little bits until I full on piss out all combustion
The visual erupts
These sweaty epidermises of yours are breaking down to bite-sized chunks
Here comes my lunch
The tissue of my flesh is stretching up and out around my hyphed out gums
We're almost done
We're almost done
We're almost done

Pull up my roots and dethorn my little brain, huh? brain, huh?
Take a whiff and I spit your pretty face off, face off

Pull up my roots and dethorn my little brain, huh? brain, huh?
Take a whiff and I spit your pretty face off, face off

Pull up my roots and dethorn my little brain, huh? brain, huh?
Take a whiff and I spit your pretty face off, face off