alright, a 19 year old kid so my life is 'fuck it, improvise'
i'll live amongst melbourne train lines and hazy-eyed head highs
sorta switching between all sorts of assorted glass pipes
and people say to me my lines should be called 'the white stripes'
what did you expect? i was born no future generation
flicking lit bics to scorch and inhale satan
hiding inside commodores til' smoke crack burns black
or paper turns black; this writing shit i have knack
and a wit and cunning as sharp as d.b cooper's
as sharp as twenty degrees of the sharpest harpoon shooters
word is he carries more bars that your local penitentiary
bred into him because this country's built on felonies
it's why every aussie rapper fronts like a crip
but it's the same shit that falls from their fucking lips
'married to the rap game' is the stupidest tout
because if rap was your bitch she'd contemplate every escape route
or she'd kick you out before you got the chance to unpack
you moved to my neighbourhood; i bested you at verbal combat
what i really mean is i'm so out of your league
you can't even muster a sixteen without feeling fatally fatigued
so i guess i should give you an advantage for free
i'll switch to third person so you're not actually battling me
'owen? he left, now hatred lives here instead
that emo fucks dumped somewhere across state half dead'
i heard he was tossed from the side of the train
and now the damages exceed the extents of his own brain
and the crime report stated suicide with no body
apparently, the government took it to perform an autopsy
and experiment upon him to find that exact element
hidden beneath the sediment; melancholy and hateful eminence
i mean emcee, forgive the mispronunciation
feel free to quote though, this is all misappropriation
to feed viral vloggers and language contortionists
the equivalent of the internet's back alley abortionists
these scummy fuck's are calling me fucking heartless
the reality is i learnt to follow my head more and my heart less
honestly i'd prefer my phone off than me calling it quits
so if you're calling me for what i have, man i've fucking had it
i'm constantly looking over my shoulder for daggers
unanswered texts and missed calls push me further along the social ladder
i think carry pidgeon should be my primary form of communication
cause no fiend would trust their drugs to the feats of aviation
i'm not a judas goat or your personal fucking trafficker
one morning my parent's could find me hanging by the bannister
or as evidence marked 'number one' at a murder scene
shell casings, battle scars and everything in between
i clawed at the walls til they were bare brick and mortar
smoked an ounce down a quarter to make consciousness shorter
shit's kinda fucked when happiness can be confiscated
packaged 1998 and put it into circulation
now childhood nostalgia's become endless malaise
elysian field of wanderlust burn on for days and days
the heat radiates; like a kiln to the clay
and if pottery weren't so frail we'd be stuck in our ways
i'm loading words into the chamber of a furnace smith n'
melting them down to see the diamond in the rough glisten
master hate crimes; dismiss my real name
i took a baseball bat and hammered at the fragile mind frame
and kept swinging until the foundations gave way
buckled under it's own weight, broken bones and x-rays
police tape marks the outer reaches of the debris
let the rubble crumble beneath and leave me fucking be
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