You ‘n I don’t have the same scale,
but I’m quarter pack pissed.
I got nicotene runnin’ through my veins,
‘n I’ve got build-up in my fists–
most like I’m gonna be diggin’ splinters from ’em tomorrow.
I’m all tensions cables, powerlines,
I got all these vibrations ‘n transmissions.
Someone’s tappin’ morse code on my skull,
It’s a pound-pound-ache sort of rhythm,
With flesh splat tympanis ‘n back up symphonies.
I’m quarter pack pissed,
‘n if we ain’t gonna fight or fuck,
you got no place standin’ between me
‘n lettin’ my feet ramble where they will.
