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