[Bodey]

i'm borderline dyke-ish, this one's for sure. another quarter-life crisis, 31 is obscure. sometimes i'm gone for hours while i pedal in place. but then i'm up on water towers in adrenaline's face. who does that? that's like giving Dahmer flowers for the women he's raped. that's like flippy floppy flounder still alive on the plate. nah, never mind, the two arent related, stop. i'm a slave to the rhyme and it strangles creative thought. i know this... but then again, i cant save her, this alcoholic buttcrack... pressin pen to sandpaper callin it a rough draft. so i'm a tiger, no a lioness, spittin fire from the finest. you're a liar with the kindness that i just can't figure out. i can take the beat and slay it and act like i'm not decayin over shit that's got me stayin up the latest in my house. i'm a grouch, always walkin with a slouch'n lookin down. never could i figure out what the fuck that was about. and instead of sittin, prayin, maybe tryin not to say it, i could stick with watchin cable and act like you're not around