[Arsenium]

A chauvinist mongrel, sick, a slaughterin stig,
drove in a hoverin' Benz, cold, caught in a wind,
walking a wall wobbling worse than a balancing ball ,
with a bomb under the palace walls, raw malice falls,
through my palms with a frost-thaw burned applause,
this claw never learned to paw, the fall was never in halt,
a calming saw, oxymoronic like oxytocin in a proximity of monks,
an ox boxing with a toxin up his nostril like my mind locked in,
with a conscious chicken pox constant infecting like a monster,
mobbing thoughts off my roster, faring worse than a Rasta, farian,
without his ganja, I'll last a minute and leave you in a cast,
who was your master? the corpse is my pasta, weird necrophilic,
Don't try to fucking steal my minute, the minister of menace,
I'm peeling off your skin with this heat that'll never diminish,
beginnin' two thousand or so years ago, a sinner gone acidic,
written down scripted on a high, higher than when Jesus lit it,
and woke up hung over, just to miss church, Is that a bit over,
the top, or is your head just under the rock that I threw at the cross,
All these fucking morals must stop, shove a knife through your bandaid,
a crackhead, crackpot and pothead gonna rampage your landscape,
run amock dancing while I murder multiple mockingbirds and say,
I rewrote literature in my ashtray, how could this have happened,
I'm big headed, shit headed, headed for the brink of the cliff
with all the medicinal acid trips I need a medic but I might slit his head with,
a tight string and behead him and leave his motorbike revvin',
''bye Kevin!'' two days after his wedding, that's my idea of heaven

Titles don't mean shit.