Exhaust

I'm in this bitch odd as fuck, still feeling what I took in the car
Driver side fall out, embalmed like what I put in cigars
You getting bombed like Bush and Islam
You looking at Nam, I'm in the bush like the Cong
Rush cells like turtle shells when I pull in the arms (they don't get it, Valhalla man)
Yeah, I'm in a world of fire, hot bars like curling irons
Cocked arms like a juice head
Squat bars, curling iron
Pop off so much heat, curl the iron
Heat to his brim, curl his visor
Watch his brain hurl on sideburns
Dolo home invasions, forensics are saying the girl had died first
Slit throat cold, with your world beside her
Found the pride deep in her eyes and cut out the pearl inside her
Then go listen to Burl Ives by myself in a new Berlin Diner
More faces than Chris Hagan, turtleneck, shades, close shave and with curls like Wilder
I stay fat and corrupt behind these bars spitting that Lou Pearlman fire

(There are over 7 million mentally ill and emotionally disturbed children in America. This program is about some of those children and the institutions they live in. Children of darkness.) [the intro of Children of Darkness an Oscar nominated 1983 documentary by Richard Kotuk]

Still Cambodian, canned the heat fire
Cantonese tiger, window panes, tabs and sheets
Hand 'em these
The flow is straight Saint Anthony's fire
I strangle teens, bash in teeth wires
Opium champ, fans rush in, in a trance
You know how damp the dust is
My head's a box a claustrophobic couldn't stand up in
I pull the van up, hand's clutch clips
My whole band bust zigs
Using your head as a cabinet to throw cans up in
These groupies run their mouth til this hand touch limbs
Forensics pulling that missing girl's hair strands tucked in