I got so many ideals, I keep them stored in my head closed and locked with lead. What did you expect from a little person like me? Did you think I want this pain? I stress this feeling every damned day, I just can't escape this country, I just can't play like I did when I was a lad! I cook myself slowly like a turkey or poultry, now this poetry is all I got to express death on my tombstone, layed down six feet deep in the local cemetery.
My eyes fluxuate trying to hard to capture the last ray of light, but I'm turned slight to far right, and as that song goes here comes the night, here comes the fight, there goes your fucking rights! Shoot me in the face if you wan't to place some fear in the air, let those fools know that you mean business; you know what the hell I'm talking about!
You just ain't shit when it comes to law breaking, just straight faking. Fuck this crack up kinda guy, let him see where he is slacking, get him all ready and then send him packing, perhaps snag a picture and leave it on my living room rack.
Tell me what the fuck you talking about!
Stressed Out
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