Dual mics open curtains fueled right
Thats hype screams in head from last night
Blood slicked floors and sweat from the glans
The session of fans like the sets for a tan
A possession grams of my secular banned
Death threats when i can
Im seeking out for my Stan
So I can leave when I please
And know theres need if i get infinite feed
I've been with this heat so I plead upon these beads
The way god treats me there is no rosary
He is so dead to me i will burn his cloud
Piss on the gates and knock him out no further rounds
I prefer the sound of atom of bombs
When they be having a cause
Of these avid bitch laws
Of the cross star or some other shape
A gun to the faith I put nuns in there place
Positioning rapes coordinate pace
A quarter or eighth of high life to be saved
