I’m beginning to feel like I’m one in million
Not one sentence can tempt the public opinion
I’m the menace, a villain, the son of civilians
Now I get it, I’m sent, unplugging the minions
What’s the point of it all? now why I’m selling my soul?
And if I’m part of a cult, then I’m the head of it
I wanna be part of it, but the body’s too demanding
The party don’t understand me, like what’s the relevance
I wanna feel as if I’m a part of something
Like Picasso stumbling into his self portrait
Tied with sorrow, grumbling, in a hell that’s gorgeous
Ride the bronco into battle, it’s cordless
Take it with a grain of sand and torch it to smith the swords with
I’m a motherf#cking master of the craft and swift with quartz lips
That’s a gem bar
I feel like I could take a swig of unknown Peter Scot and swish it with bourbon
Down the neck with Gin-Ton, start swinging, I’m fist strong
Only if I’m pissed off, I don’t endorse it
I get mine and I end off, so where’s my blindsight send off?
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