We come from a world of oblivion, bad dreams I got all I need strapped right to my hamstring I'm not really bad, I'm just made up of bad things I'm really not a mad man, the voices keep asking Born with a soul that don’t wanna be saved Every time I look around I see what a fiend made Every time I die, I hope they digging up my grave An undead one like the flag that I wave I’m not afraid to cry from this cocaine sickness I’m not afraid to die, let the good book witness I ask and give none, nope, no forgiveness The day of the dead and you’re on our hit list So come all you misfits Bitch, you’re on our hit list
Lol, I'm not farming you because I care, I'm farming you because I know you will whine and it will be funny.