I'm still alive. I don't know why. I'm still crazy, still intoxicated.
Just don't talk no more. Which is a shame, because in my mind I'm a
legend. I guess we're all superstars in our eyes. I live every day
just like it's my last one. I feel as there are a million tales I
haven't told.
I feel as if I had neglected yinz. The wisdom from my mental milk will
make your minds grow.
I'm sorry. I like dxm and cocaine too much. And mushrooms. And stamp
bags. And cheap beer.
And smelly pussy. And random acts of stupidity. Last night a friend of
mine beat and robbed a
man for his wallet, got drenched in his blood. I heard the victim cry
on his cell phone to his
sister that first he got AIDS and now he got robbed. My friend already
is crazy as hell from
freebasing so that news should make him even more saner. Stupid ass. I
spend two of the
last five total years of my life locked up with morons, rapists, child
molesters, and murderers
and all I got was this fucking t-shirt.
There ain't no God. Esham is a good rapper.
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