Octopus tentacles cut
Suicide dept
On a windy a day
Inner somewhere from that judge mental scare
Yes went there, dead ahead a carousel of red
Knowledge not to acknowledged your latter
Flatter ur self
Google a trophy shop ur game is bought
After ur scheme got caught, gutted and sold for fillets
Sound of machines brings out the juke
Another machine intervenes
They sex themselves
And I’m just the help
Who works whom?
When you say no
Them send dudes to pursue their yes.
How many roads to them yellow brick roads?
“Just up the so yellow…” say its gold roads
Where your nostrils hair OD
On the apple pipe dreams of the game to be sold
It’s always best to shake’em up to keep’em on dem toes
Their bubble men blocked in, small world and anything them oppose
The sacrifice not in sight, and them roam the skies,
“I got you” off the nose
Tapped with them gat
The game of tag
Might I add, you owe me one last
The fortune of your hands
Sweats for rubbish
How often does this thought pass?
“They just rotate”
CCMF
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