What a day to be a NAS on the space of a spare patient,
please.
I'll be patient by the end of the year.
What a day to be a nutcracker on the awkward side.
Horns are honking,
waiting till the seventh trumpet is signed.
Buck the rush,
it's all it to be quick enough for dusting down and stop the kid
from drowning a bit.
Ain't a chance to the tire screech.
City streets got their own speech and I ain't
got the time to analyze or understand them.
Jabber this pussy,
that anger dick,
skinny fat,
blunt,
unsense.
Melitation cycles of the brain to make.
I'm drooling on the desk,
this life lessons a mess.
*, I thought I'd find myself a real quest.
Fantasy is fantasy, but just one is impossible.
So now we stuck with the aggro dudes with aero pastels.
What a day to be a NAS on the face of a sphere.
Patient,
please,
I'll be patient by the end of the year.
The street bombast,
the street bombast,
the street bombast,
the street bombast,
the street bombast.
I left a sign at the Donnerstallters then Ida Miss,
fingers crossin'.
My mic and since, not gonna mark a lot of vites.
I missed the bus when my sister was out with mobs and emigrats
With kitchen glasses that shattered,
with fiends that call him friend
When slackers tend to their yanga like cool bangas
Fuckin' poster right,
they oversize I and I'm talkin' to all the singer
Now last but least,
it's the feast of the beast of burden
In urgency,
cast a sermon,
confirm it,
I'm all concerned and burdened
Satan's sadists and overpayin' my dues
On the day she went away and I'm nothin' left,
I'm a lose
I'm all that talkin' and bruised
I'm off for the call of stew
Scribblomas and Roman nuns
All the foes know, chosen few
Street bombers, street to street bombers
Street bombers, street to street bombers