These streets will harden you up
Now steal a spine from a bystander
Grow some balls while you’re at it
It is not that bad, stop whining
With my limited knowledge of immunity
You will be baptized in raw sewage
You will be enriched by it
That’s how manure works, right?
Grow up, you weakling!
Who hasn’t caught a few bullets to the brains?
Accept the things you cannot change
Don’t be the change, you blowhard!
Your neighbour makes more money
When will you imbibe their essence?
I will tell you to fall in line
So you will fall face first horizontally
Where is the gilded urn you promised my ashes?
The several hearses on the tar pits,
Bubbling from my cremation,
It will finally shroud your senses