... or maybe I'm trippin balls...
Padded interior sprawls, straight jackets, grippin the walls...
strippin the gause down to the festering causes
all because this broad tricks with the johns on the strip- man I lost it...
long nose metal pinnochio flossin gepetto bossin the bitch to the floor... "SIT!"
one lift, click, pick of the draw left shit hittin the floor quicker than jabbawockees at war...
talk about a "LOCK" and "POP" - that blast more than fragmented her jaw.
I'm in a villainous form with an air around me as rigid as Storm's.
I'm Chris fresh off a bitch and I'm hitting a tour.
A killing spree befitting of history books- Cruisin like Eazy, bumpin Tupac Shakur.
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