.:: I'm not a person you fix ::.

[Objective]

The human thirst is a booty curse..
My clothes; the perfume is oozing hers yet I'm choosing worse;
In the code of life it's beauty first, so I run away with some open, cool, cutie nurse.
As the duty serves and the cootie burst - I'm where I started; a broken fool coerced.
It's some wizardry shit on the ex-spelled bigotry bit, life is a trip,
so I repelled a viciously hit but still fell for the overly amibitiously tip.
It's just what happens with chicks, should'a hammered some tricks,
but the trap isn't wits, it's me being a dick with the average shit.
I'm dreaming of handling kids, yet I'm too savage and damaged for this,
I think manners is piss, just look at Flanders; A bitch, all schizo n' shit,
I've been canned and manned down as all my dreams seems to have missed.
The concept that slits arteries and opens some wrists, taunting n kiss,
is the dope that holds you for this as if it's bonding, then responding with bliss.
I wake up in my boxers with jizz, it isn't a shocker, it is
the lonely and jerked urban version of a personal diss,
I'm not only hurt - turban-wearing murderers aint shit, I'm not a person you fix;
I'm the mixed version of Kurt Cobain with bits of Durden, bourbon and Kiss.