Hell all about me All around me Gnash the language Of old The lifer Doesn't know where he goes Only who he is And what he runs from Doom pouring down like hail Hot foot powder Hot foot powder at the base of my door I used to be grounded But true reality is hell And hell is hell Smothering and cruel Sixteen years Coming from pitch-black asphalt road Blood Blood, pissy mattresses, and hard floors Monetization of the self You're only one bad tour, one bad album, or one bad member From falling apart