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Feeling like putting myself on the chopping block—social discourse; Having no remorse for using the resource of life force; Seemingly craft is my wife and poem is my child Naturally pen is my knife for the sake of the beasts of the wild Tomb I will make my home Before I deliver the quill to the hands of the Reaper Or swallow the pill of the Piper; Making the runes to decipher You can consider me another lifer Lifе—is living in strife Even its playroom Is loaded with black balloons; Tryna makе the poachers find their love But they see us all as baboons Icin' Upon the cake that's garnished with some ricin Feisty Is what they say to the people fighting for their liberty Or tryna find some tranquility Anyone apart from hegemony For them it's called revolutionary For they own term civility Looking across the sea I see the same mentality: Governments squelching dissent Ostensibly for the sake of God and country Hold my canteen Though I'm panting
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