Why would I presume to lock the door unless you were queer why would my ass be sore?/
And hey, oojay, I don't fetch my rhymes from Mr. Stewart, it's called using your brain; insane, how about sometime you do it?/
Think your sublime, no, just shut the fuck up, duck, take cover, to the left or right, avoid my fists/
You couldn't hold yourself in a fight, unlike Chino XL, you have a plight, you're small, bitches won't hold you because you ain't even tall/
Take a breather, this rap is probably making you mad, but you should be glad, now, you're angry over something other than the diminutive size of your dick/
Lick your blood off the ground while I pound more brain-blowing sound into your eyes, uncovering lies that have enshrounded themselves in your nasty mind like little fruit flies/
Goodbyes plague you from those that were quite opposed to seeing your face every day, and would rather run away from you than stay/
They were more inclined to jump from bridges and die, than view the snail's pace that you conservatives make, similar to the wake of a falling jet, it's enough to make your scalp bake/
You bitches have pretty much dug a ditch for yourselves to all go down and die in/
After this rap is over even you'll be convinced that Snickers is for the win, and oojay has been crumpled and 2-pointed into the garbage bin/
See the fact of the matter is you don't even know, and trust me, it shows, the visibility of your rotten agenda is as clear as a blizzard is snow/
Now go, blow another Bush in the back alley of a district court, snort some more incomprehensible republican trash into your baby brain that you refuse to abort/
Just remember while you do this that everyone will still be right here, waiting to determine who the loser is, choosing their bids wisely in this game of russian roulette/
Don't flinch, your insecure body position is no threat, I won't physically abuse you, this trauma you receive is your own debt
To me and the people, freedom is not located inside a church steeple, feebly fumbling it's way to the outside, because in there it's blind
Signed to the elements of government, freedom is bent by legislation upon it's personalised crucifix/
Made from the tears of crying minorities and the homes of those who have only enough to pay for a shelter built from sticks/
Kicks begotten from the sorrow imposed upon others, your sick mind finds rhymes to justify such crimes/
Don't commit suicide, society needs your kind to balance out the few good people that don't abide, rebelling against you and the rules but slowly winning with time/
But now know from your facial expression that you wear with solemn tears, I will been chosen as the new winner, no surprise to all our musicbanter peers/
__________________
A mi no me importa nada
Para mi la vida es un sueño
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