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