Gasoline on a Cradle

Intro:

- You know I'm sayin'? I'm out at the club I roll a blunt, I'm smokin' blunts, I roll up some Dust, I smoke some Dust, you know I'm sayin', I pop a pill
- You were actually smokin' PCP at one point
- Yeah, a lot of it

With the ten remainin' years of his life under house arrest and (?), though he had lost in the courts of the church, though he was allowed to return to his workin' fields other than Astronomy

Verse 1:

Yo, cuck rap, fuck that I'm Maggie (Fuck)
These is drug raps like baggies
In the cut like, stuffed crack in cap seats
Puff dash in dab sheets, I'm on the trees
Face painted, with the dung of bees
I'll stuff a dead hippie, into a Yellow Submarinе
Yeah, yeah, I hear you rap, that's еnough
I leave the axe in stuck
Ultra aqualung, hair like kush and platinum
When I'm in a casket done
Scientists will be scrapin' test samples of old acid up
From off my blackened gums

Interlude:

And then he just went, he was outta hand, he was killin' people, for uh, for nothin', and um, somebody had to take him out
In every week or two weeks I used to get a kilo of uh, pure dope

Verse 2:

Fuck, man, red soil, black ropes
Cold body, black soul, knighted by a black Pope
White witch in a black robe
Black tar epidermis, a bad dope (Oh shit)
No weapons but severed arms in the back of the Ac' closed
Sicilian descendants from the cliffs, of Agrigento, smokin' gassy petrol
Rappers, just half of benzos
Still-life paintings of faces malformed and carved up
As far as this dark art, I'm the Grim Reaper like Scarpa (Hahahaha)
I'm the Goatboy, Jim Breuer, the kid Bueller
Dab head, oil rig fueler, crucifix skewers