been awhile since I sat down and wrote to a beat
nowadays I'm an out of place opium freak
still bark at the moon and bite marketing dudes
you will not see my album in Target this June
walked the line until I lost my mind
I haven't got the time to really be an honest guy
..and that's a tricky methodology, follow me?
I change names randomly to maintain sanity
the medium is music, the mind is the weapon
beat is the pulse that's providing the message
I leave behind in every single mind that I mess with
the virus connected, like a sinus infection...
target practice, slapstick, charlie chaplin
full starving artist package, party crashing
Harvard frat kids, thanks for the drugs
aim for the rug, and leave that shit stained for a month
the vodka tonic got me sweating a bit
cuz you can never predict shit when thirtyseven is ripped
a dangerous brain, so no playing it safe
containing my rage, or watching what I say when I'm blazed
monkey religion is a substance addiction
and I got twelve steps for recovering christians
listen - this is not a popularity contest
for bitter little rich kids and arrogant potheads

what's this? a message to humans with guts
what's that? live crazy and do as you must
how come? most monkeys are stupid as fuck
why's that? bad food, music and drugs>

composing with silence, provoking a riot
showing open horizons to broken appliances
not distracted with surface reactions
I learned how to practice a system to see
listen and breathe to find the rhythm beneath
whatever physical meat that I live in this week
breath is a weapon, perfected my method
with sentences stretching in every direction
armed to the teeth, spit sharpened and clean
my tools are invisible and hard to believe
trust me, I function on nothing but weed, beats
drums and machines with malfunctioning screens
...oh seven and the spark has died
so don't march in line with target signs
times have changed, we gotta redesign the game
to find a way to survive until the final days so what's this?