Had you call me M A A F A after the rock cry out. No longer wanna lick you off the sides of my mouth and spit you out in rhymes. Would rather murder you and do my time in dula numerals. I counted tunnels in the funny junkyard. counted the minutes I could spend in open air and forced myself illiterate in American values and it was lit. Neurotic with hip teeth and a Thad Jones lisp. We needed to get outside. Even if we had we to run up on a liquor store promising I ain’t never coming home no more
