Sangre

[Boxguts]

Cannon cattle and farm stock
Ham on the hock, car hand chop and spatter the smock
Arms locked like a gun jam
I'm just warming up like a tortoise kicking back on top of it's shell relaxed catching a sun tan
When shit gets real, it's like a little baby smoking a splif watching hardcore porn and shit, born in a drug den
Pouring blood red floods of ants from my mouth
When I shout I'ma spout of endless cow killers from Bugland
Speech unleash the beast I gleek goliath beetles and feast on meats of crushed lambs
Black hockey puck slam fast into grills
Dripping ill for real
That's a slapshot to peel tops, spillin rotten, crunch heads
The dumb hot skills dumping lead, when I scribble something dead
Popping off on sharp pencil points floppin, sopping proper
What was not written probably have ripped n sloppily stuck then

[Jak Tripper]

Everything's been said let's hug the rope
I splatter brain matter to hummus batter running out onion slow
This mis-cut low five style in technicolor row
Eight millimeter rails with watermarks stashed on disclosed
Pour your essence and dim some, dim son saying Jak hung his coat
Fuck this I'll cut his whole fucking tongue and nose into chicken cutlets cold
I'm plugged in stuck in this puppet show
In the church like Rutledge
The second I get of sulfur in the wind I'm shooting and driving
Looting with goons and more rolls than Lucifer rising
Bright and psychic, I feel I'm due for The Shining
Every drop shake waters under the house bolts enough to loosen the sidings
This is a drug summer, moody control your sun structure
Literally drug summer
From in bloom on the roof snow crust covered I think hard