You will never be lucked in this world boy So sadly picked for a thick fitting of silk Bathed in brandy, then dried to perfection In the six month width of Alaskan sun So you might won, so you might win Worlds over effortlessly, nah boy You will be shown how to work the crank that Turns the streets to face the rich and just reflect them And if fools can have songs about nothing but wealth... Damned if I'm a not sick whole sonnets on death To ring a needle width a light out of the dark I crept And for those who slept fuck em now I know Exactly which whay I oughta be sending the wolves When we meet, cause I have had my fill Of seeing this flesh hit teeth, it's like me Calling blood back to the front of my cuts To do what, to wear pants to wipe blood To cut luck, to... not walk and sleep At the same time I think of paper thin wounds And mile long lines...