For the Press

The girls in the front are stunting wanting you to take it
The girls in the back, they say you're never gonna make it
The boys in the buildings: sweating, waiting on a paycheck
The boys on the corners move the means of our escapes, yeah

And I'm in the backyard, I'm consuming what I came with
This party is invasive, cigarettes will cue the face shift
Recalling the lines, unwritten script for all occasions
I can't understand this lack of feeling and I hate it

But I don't want to rot 'til I'm dead
But I don't want to rot 'til I'm dead

And I don't want to rot 'til I'm dead
I don't want to rot 'til I'm dead
I don't want to rot 'til I'm dead
I don't want to rot 'til I'm dead