produced by Phil Maggio
written/performed by my bruv Mangy Maxx
Chech him out here: soundcloud.com/mangymaxx
lyrics
Often people who have pompous egos,
mob together like a flock of seagulls and think they're 'bout as dope as poppy fields, on the real.
They think it's fragrant when they're dropping fecal,
anxious for some cocks to deepthroat.
Vacant and their thoughts are feeble.
Their flaws concealed with the shield of false pride,
small minds wrapped in congealed in raw slime.
I'm a wretched and mangy mutt, rejected by lady luck
my repetitive ways have stuck, i'm seconds away from fucked and
im falling in face first, the knowledge my brains learning is all in a days work, i follow the strange urges to paint surfaces.
my nervousness stays lurkin'. Create verses, letting great burdens off of my sternum. When the hand feeds, i bite it. Tried expanding my mind, but i can't seem to find it. Or plant seeds inside it.
I can't sleep at night i just stare at a blank page. my face stays complacent but laced with innate rage. I'm self-destructive. My health is fucked, i've never felt this rugged. a jealous puppet, full of hellish rubbish, trying to dwell in numbness. held some grudges, but i forgive and forget quick. My plans have been in effect since i was a kid sipping nesquick.. out of sippy cups..now im getting drunk reminiscing...in a rut but when the pen is clutched gems are written. A sick human, who sips liquids and sin fluids to get lifted till his head's shifted and in ruins. Addicted and influenced by visions of improvement, my crew's proven to be a smooth fusion of lit fuzes...