I'm a creator of trash with new ideas
I act like a pig when I'm surrounded by bulls
I keep clean money next to dirty socks at the bank
Spend dirty money and didn't think that
I sing rap better than Michael fucks kids
And I can celebrate an exceptional failure
I'd live a thousand years and it still wouldn't be enough
And I bloat up when my belt is on too tight
You're tore in half by work or tore in half in your valve
I grew a gill on my cock, come breathe underwater
You're ashamed and listen to my music with the window closed
You've got the blood pressure of a corpse, let me take you to Paradise
You lick your lips when I release new propaganda
Like a streetwalker irradiated by hunger
We are telepathic, my cock hurts (Not caring) when your throat hurts
And what I sing, when I sing, is quite ugly
I'm a creator of trash with new ideas
I watch you while smiling with my eyes cloudy and empty
In my few moments of lucidity
I think it's ideal for you to have no purpose
I dream of clapping cheeks through the sound of an pipe orga
Wake the fuck up, hoe, we are at the morgue
You were sucking my cock, I was thinking of someone else
I jumped in the truck when I avoided the puddle
This shitty white light, I don't like
So stay the fuck here, rest in peace
I'll go back on the streets once again hungover
I've got unclean thoughts and my underpants hardened on my ass
I swear on the light of your glassy eyes
That nobody knows me, not even you do
My psyche is unstable, it's actually soup
It makes me hold a conversation with myself for days
I wish you all for the priest to burp at your head
And for your wives to leave flip-flop marks on your backs
I can still fit in my skin, limited edition,
Because my musical garbage is clean stuff
I'm a creator of trash with new ideas
I watch you while smiling with my eyes cloudy and empty
In my few moments of lucidity
I think it's ideal for you to have no purpose