so goddamn arrogant, stuck so firm in your ways
reaching for the strings that only can hypocrites play
with half as much wit as what you're supposed to
frayed and flailing from every piece of my father that drunkenness stole
but dear god, no, we simply mustn't blame the ethanol
instead it was the smoke of flowers that caused the harm
and not the other forms of toxins that came through the arms
if i stopped spending half my fortnight money on sess
maybe instead if i spent it on drink, you'd be impressed
i'm not a failure, you're just dissatisfied with your own
you've got more pulleys and screws than you've got fucking bone
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
ladies & gentleman, i'd like to welcome you to tonight’s show
i've nothing really planned to the extent of watching grass grow
or blow, watch this kid master mad synonyms
roll em’ up in a bible verse and reventilate back into him
started writing sixteens after my sweet sixteenth
call me king author, pen mightier than any sword sheathed
killed at least five kingdoms worth of failure ink charmers
spoke or thrown arrows and daggers never penetrate my armours
i should have poetic licence revoked for hideous malpractice
i'm so deep in this shit i outweigh the counterbalance
and dropping bars has never gotten me any higher
or any lighter, sparking up the leaf rolled in papyua
twenty copper shots to switch up the artisan genre
stay gold like alchemists and hard like blunt force trauma
in a hostile environment; firestarting burn lithium
and paper from the garden of eden to breathe in elysium
in forms of cancerous ink, rolled words on the page
dreams sprinkled inside; costing a minimum base wage
salary, that’s just a common misdemeanour
which propelled me to a felon that’s what makes a mister meaner
judas scapegoat; story bent, caught with grams - greenhanded
understand it? it just the way all the fucking farmers had planned it
currently hiding out somewhere between sirius and the sun
smoking green outta bags, watching gilligan’s island reruns
avoiding all the chemists who learnt to keep us awake
all their chemical experiments were only for their own sake
'money's better than anything a drug could ever lace'
i'd usually agree but however in this case i'm off face
and i ain't had sleep for like three or four days
i'm stuck somewhere between a daze and a herbal haze
so money falls short of happiness, it's true what they say
but it can be spent on drugs and i'm usually happier that way
i'm praying like kendrick, i hope that euphoria can slow dance
maybe teach me to waltz, loosen up my stance
maybe perchance show the difference between lust at first glance
and being alone on train tracks screaming 'what the fuck is romance?'
here, we'll make this 44. magnum my opus
apparent i'll never write one; always too faded to keep focus
cause i'm not half as real as half these kids spitting from broken homes
not using this shit to suppress an x/y chromosome
really, i still look up to both my mother and my father
and this idolization will last from here until thereafter
until i'm on my knees by step-father and holy ghost
hanged, drawn and quartered and scattered along the east and west coasts
perpetual snowstorms have caused my bones to atrophy and age
so the slightest fray will more than likely shatter my whole ribcage
though still plotting the shortest route from where i am to where i wanna be
cutting my wrists so i can see where i have previously tried to flee
laying distinctive pathways through all the places passed travelling
resew the neurological tapestry before it's done slowly unravelling
claude monet created artworks considered ten times more composed
you can't reopen old wounds that never properly closed
so you should be able to see into the dead centre of my soul
and witness that i'm made up of nine layers of ashes and coal
slightly off to the left, i can feel jedecca breaking in two
and there's more than enough lesions for him to seep out though
so before i trip over several lies that took years to be strung
i'll do my best to stitch back together skin that flaked beneath the sun
i'm reaching out for guidance only to clutch broken hands
and i can't question direction past each of my swallow glands
what i thought was a seraph was a vulture with white wings
i clipped them in the autumn and kept you warm until the spring
tried to splint your broken wing and repair your damaged beak
but infection defeated healing and your injuries stayed weak
we tried to harmonize but every note we sang was wrong
retrograde amnesia for the melody you were singing all along
then you scratched up my body, took your leave and once again
moved onto another nest with an apparent inability to maintain
so now i'm building stories with the heaviest words ever sung
to add it to my repertoire of songs to scream at the sun
while marching in rhythm to the beat of a slowly fleeting pulse
pushing against the winds until the body starts to convulse
i swear you must have knicked one of my pulmonary veins
cause i can bloodflow redirecting to the frontal lobe of my brain
huge pressure is building and my left arm has gone numb
i feel it behind my eyes, i bet i can get it with my thumbs
not brave enough for blindness so this pain will never dull
i swear i'd be able to grasp it if i could get inside my skull
does the brain lead the parasite or is it the mind that solely guides?
can i reach into each my ears and rip out all the insides?
will i eventually think more clearly once this is all said and done
or will i be forced to replace my broken mind for a newer, better one?
i swear my mind can be rebuilt using the proper mixture of chemicals
flood the pharmaceuticals into the fourth and third ventricles
and hopefully while they're at it, they'll repair my rotted lungs
but disregard my dying heart, as we each speak in different tongues
can't afford crack under the pressure, by my own intent or error
need to create a distinction between what's fleeting and what's forever
discover the parallels between what helps and what weakens
while i'm stuck south of sodom, slightly north-east of eden
i'll neither trip nor faulter fowards, towards an uncertain, tragic end
but i suspect this all depends on how well my broken legs will mend
if the bone will snap under the load or allow me to walk straight
cause all this pressure on my shoulders is becoming baring weight
my eyes aren't commited enough to communicate all the oncoming ditches
that i never hestitate to find, i can be sew back together with stitches
i swear my mind can be rebuilt using the proper mixture of pharmaceuticals
though i'll probably fall apart again, as it's been proven to be the usual
and deep in a shallow graves lie the best laid schemes of mice and men
that have proven only to fail time, and time again
look; take the mindset of a fucked kid from down under
add it to violence of tidal waves and fury of thunder
sprinkle a hit of eminem and mix in a dash of king geedorah
make it enigmatic like makaveli and mind-numbing like ether
combine one-half dimethyltryptamine with four-fifths diazepam
it’ll cause overdoses after smoking only half a gram
fucking nauseating like alice d and sid’s childhood romance
that’s the way i’d explain myself if i got the fucking chance
but y’know, i’m always tightlipped due to my insecurities and anxieties
unless i’m letting go on a beat so we’ll call the lyrics my diaries
but let’s not call it hip-hop, it’s music-assisted poetry
and these aren’t verses or stanzas, it’s my life encoded in .mp3
i’m dropping lines right in front of you, ready for the snorting
but really, it’s a suicide note disguised as a rap recording
i’m surcummbing to the addiction, the way it’s suppose to be
trading nickels for narcotics cause it’s the only thing to comfort me
relished in our worries, victories, failures, fucks and fears
if home is where the heart is, i’ve been homeless for fucking years
i left it somewhere in the eastern suburbs back in oh-eight
really, family to me is worth all the bus trips interstate
consider yourself lucky, you had friends to see everyday
my best friends live at the end of 300 ks away
aside from them and mary jane, city lights numbs my pain
i’ll be the kid seated across from you; looking out the window of the train
exploring the city along train lines through hazy eyes
rushing along between platforms, seats and head highs
and if happiness were a drug, you’d have all died from your binge
skin with a purplish-tinge; fallen victim to that deceitful syringe
it’s happened to me, you’ll escape through a hole in your head
because chasing brightness angers darkness and it won’t stop ‘til you’re dead
push against the grain though; turn the cycle to a revolution
keep self-medicating and ingesting cancerous lung pollution
i may never be a success but my voice will never be suppressed
and like a move in chess, none of my bars meaningless
though i’m a dime a dozen poet like tight jeans at flinders street
i know i’ve been depressive but know i’ll never admit defeat
it’s just i’m tired of living this dreary, bleak reality. shit
am i awake or just a victim to a brain-chemical abnormality?
dunno but at either rate, i’ll end up with too much on my plate
i’d say i’d demonstrate but i’m sure you can already relate
i’ve spent every night for the last nineteen years counting sheep
but every numeral never seems to amount to any fucking sleep
i’m always wide awake, finding ample reasons to stay jaded
passing the moonlight getting sedated, wasted and faded
this insomnia and hatred have provoked the beast inside of me
set free with an insatiable need to devour eemcees
spitting static on an inaudible frequency
gathering up all bitch rappers and to let him feed peacefully
i don't suppose you've got a little time to spare
to listen to my melancholy ring out like children's unanswered prayers
lay down foundations of misery over bass and snares
and illustrate how reality has merged with each of my nightmares
barely lucid, this is lucifer's idea of debut collecting
attacking the victim in the midst of astral projecting
goodness gracious, this place falls beyond all of god's graces
only as tolerant as the last drug it was laced with
be it through rap or psychology, i'm breaking this monotony
i refuse to be the cat killed at the hands curiosity
the only soldier caught on the western front without a gask mask
i'm bound to return home sipping success from a third riech hipflask
i'm an inglorious bastard with a weird accent to mask it
a sly investor with all stocks in the black-market
a narco-terrorist developing al-qaeda's nuclear weapons
the fallen archangel swore revenge upon heaven
should we save everyone the trouble and euthanize me now?
if so, this is my note and i fucking hate this town
it takes and it takes until there's nothing of worth left
until your iv runs flat and you've drawn your last breath
if i ever make it big. i don't know your fucking name
i said after school i never want to see any of you again
minus a select few, and fuck you know if that's you
i've never fucking belonged here, you know that much is true
so if this was blasphemy, i'd feel some form of detachment
instead of feeling like a 50 wolves set free of entrapment
now i'm disillusion and bloodthirsty for my personal vengeance
never left jerusalem, so i'll bablyon my own repentance
and sugarcoat it to the point it's lost in translation
so you people can misinterpret most of the quotations
and apply them to your own life with glue-like adherence
really though, i'm just propagating my first live appearance
fuck you, get your own fucking drugs kid, and sense of intuition
you think i'm magical, drug dealing physician?
i'm actually surprised if you can't notice the repetition
you're the clergy requesting aid from the catholic inquisition
i don't wanna sell each and every piece of absolution
i've acquired just because you need some emotional substitution
from being tragic and helpless, probably die of electrocution
from licking wall sockets and wind up inside an institution
so pat yourselves on the back, such bright fucking sparks
enjoy the fleeting moments before you're thrust back into dark
you'll burn yourselves out like an old candle's wick
and knowing this place, you'll all do it about twice as quick
