Untitled [song aired on American Nightmare Show (Episode 1)]

(There is no world large enough to ?? plan happiness. Forget how wide and empty a brass bin can be. Alone again this Sunday morning. I awaken to children who ?? in alleyways, accompanied by taxi horns and people I can hear but not see. A dingy sunlight highlights dirty window panes.)

These kids is dead
I put the bugs in its shell
?? Rosco, bugging himself
You think I'm wack? Yo you ain't bugging yourself
You be shoveling your guts in yourself
Dead in a casket, arms crossed like you hugging yourself
No doubt son, I bury rappers out in the desert til holes crowd up
Jump on the lawnmower, face the blades out
With the crown up
Suck onto his chest ??
I gourd out lungs
I'll grind into oatmeal and goat chowder
Flow a coked out buzz
Slug hook and pellets jab
When that metal flash I'll lift his head off his neck, straight up like his neck was a helipad
Ghetto jungle gym, bars crooked
Spark kush bliss
Anarchist cook booklet
Bars wooden on fire like church burnings
Learning the shadow's art, dark hooded
Tongue sharp like a zipper
I part hoods with punchlines like Hellboy's fist, I smash car hoods in
Clap close range, whole face black sooted
Native savage, turn your back, ax put in
I'm dirtier than my piss test, Doc Gooden
I'm from the hospital sticking the doc for lock goodness