THE CRUCIFIXION OF SAINT ANGER

[Part 1]

[Intro: doin' fine]
Bitch I-

[Verse: doin' fine]
Fuck
I'm tired of rappin' 'bout trauma
Every time that I did it I did it 'cause I had to, not 'cause I wanna
Praying under 400k and I ain't use no metaphor, yeah
My mom asking me to hear it, that shit scare me to my core, yeah
Everyone wanna be a whore, yeah
When's the last time you got paid to get your fucking knees on the floor, yeah?
Huh, fuck music, I miss sex workin'
And my bitch, he a sex worker
Fucked in, got his legs hurtin'
Give the fake bitches the red curtain
Yeah, I'm tired of rappin' 'bout trauma
Think I just gave him a daughter, 'causе I just hit it raw, yeah
Trust that he knows his body, plan b in the drawеrs
But shit I got paranoia, I still hit it raw though
Me and you could be like Steve Lacy in this bitch in the back of the mall
Yeah bitch I'm a mall goth, with the checkerboards yeah
Hope that this shit is iconic 'cause as a scene girl arm warmers with other hard dykes for my [?] when they don't let you in the [?] bitch
Why the fuck I make this record?
I make this shit for Char and Luca 'Cause my voice coming second, I put myself against some real struggle
Got me pathetic, 'cause I don't wanna talk about pain
But I'm a tranny so it's expected
You will never tire of me crying about sexual confessions
How by fifteen I knew what it was to be used as a weapon
How I hate being pretty
'Cause they didn't need to pressure me into sending anything explicit
They just used my selfies
I feel naked everywhere, you see my face is an extension
He put me on the TV, everything has to be censored
Softcore face, DSLs, and triple x's
Think the image of that tribute, it burned into my retinas
And think about when you hear me rapping this you repeating the transgressions
Don't make art, I make porn
This is god I handed durex
Bitch I get real fucked up in this one
Mascara runnin', cryin', beggin'
For another bandcamp friday like a fucking Skype session
I spit by 16, you cum yet? Cuz I faked
'Cause I know it sounds so painful to express all of that pain
But the truth is it's too natural, it's in my DNA
Autopilot, a couple of minutes and my guts are on display
It's beautiful and raw, it's shocking what I create
Well it's fucking easy, I fucking hate it
It's fucking lame
Saying "cybersex but not real sex, 'cause it's all fake"
If you fell in love with a stripper then I'll rain on your parade
'Cause most of you cunts hear these lyrics about dismay
And get your rocks off, but get soft if the feeling's changed
From look how abused that I was, to how it fucks with me today
Don't claim to support victims if symptoms make you turn away
I'm talking about the ugly ones that get your support systems erased
I'm talking about the ones that you call out from standing on your crate
I'm talking about the ones in which I know you're secretly engaged
Creating anger across the culture while you're passed through as a saint

[Part 2]

[Intro]
Yuh, yuh, yuh, bitch
You are watching a master at work
Yuh, yuh
Bitch I feel like Ceres Fauna
I'm tired of rappin' 'bout trauma, yuh

[Verse 1: doin' fine]
Saw you nodding when you hear me talk about it being weaponized
But when hear this fag's a freak you don't think that's incentivized?
Painted as Buffalo Bill, but you don't look a second time
I don't care if you're a queer, love all the queers or go fuckin' die
Think about Pentecostal preachers, wanna bleed you
To them we're all freaks, Pete Buttigieg is a freak too
Dave Rubin is a freak too, Milo Y is a freak too
So how the fuck you think that they gon' fucking treat you?
How you different but don't change the things you learned when they deceived you
How you have a change of heart, but forget it has to beat too
How you eat your heart out, but forget that they gon' eat you
'Cause goddammit I'm a freak, and like it or not you're a freak too
Let's talk motivation and the consequences that that heat do
Got enough to sue me next, shocked when they hit the street too
I think people kill themselves because of what you fucking preach to
Tell me to expect no violence, cosplayin' as police do?
So it's beautiful and raw, and shocking what I create
'Cause I'm a freak, I fucked the newtown alleys more than my domain
But that just make the newtown alleys a lot more like my domain
My elements chugging piss behind the 1989 party

[Verse 2: doin' fine]
I rap about the trauma, how I'm wrapped up in these chains
The bars that I can shit out on demand like it's a tape
I don't care if you can connect, come work on happiness today
Wallowin' in sadness just got me closer to the grave
And I don't want tranny music to be synonymous with pain
I say that like I didn't listen to the record we just made
I'm belittling my peers, what the fuck I'm saying?
How dare I when I don't gotta live from pay to pay
I don't got money like that, but at least I got a place to stay
And a meal on the plate, and no depression in my brain
BPD been a beautiful bitch, you can't stop the rain
I ain't lived like Char or Luca, so why the fuck I complain?
Add on to that the fact that we made this album about rage
But that's some shit that I beat at a way earlier age
Anger issues my whole childhood, I drove my friends away
Had to [?] as a kid, thinking about death every other day
I don't get angry anymore, but when the music sounds this way
It's like it's beckoning me to scream my lungs until my voice fades
Can you make a record called saint anger when your anger's in the grave?
And all your peers got shit to be angry about, you see it every day
And you hear it on repeat, mixing the vocals and the bass
When the anger's so authentic, in comparison I'm fake
And all this sad shit make me tired, it's too easy to relate
But what other option do I have? I don't got no shit to say
That's why I'm speaking all this bullshit like I'm savage at the bank
Should've bought that Versace, but it feels misplaced to claim
I'm in a trap of my own expression, with no one else to blame
I feel self entitled spitting this, taking up space
I'm not angry, I'm not a saint
I'm just tired of your gaze
I'm just tired of your deaf ears when I communicate
I ain't even say I made this song to Charlotte yet
Truthfully, I might spit this and throw my laptop in the Coogee beach
I might fuck around and never speak again, get tattoos on me
Pain cash and sex, three languages that are true to me
Après ce chanson je se dosserie or [?] de vie
I don't wanna tour America you yanks fucking spook me
We are artists recognizing characters in cross-over movies
Holding up pepsi cans shouting at you, "please come sue me"
And the bullets whisper to you, just itching you to shoot me
'Cause I don't think I can live without the mangoes in my smoothies
You can miss me around religion, it's the same thing as truth
And I don't wear the Trueys, 'cause I'm true blue, so bitch I wear the Ksubis

[Outro: doin' fine']
Motherfucker
I'm not angry, I'm not a saint
I'm just tired of your gaze