Klepto-infant disguised as a thug; false representation, the pill bottle bug.
Vaccuous victim, your stitches are ready. You’ve sparked the ignition to a powerful vehicle but never learned how to back it up. Misguided haymakers to quell outgrown angst and the pillows punch back. We’ve tasted the rotten grapes you’ve stomped into submission; that one was a great year.
Immature lyrical slander better reserved for the slums - leave the call-outs to Compton. Astoria lasted as long as your credibility. I wouldn’t even waste the ale on you.
Infantry, welcome the new brown noise commandos! Originality is a tortoise cooked in its own shell. It’s a shame we must share this island. The next time you see Vincent, ask your throat what his fist tastes like.
