Murder Seed

Hunts for fun, the bastard son The stress is a hundred and fifty percent What's it to you? Hard to quit, he's obsolete The best we can do is not peek What's it to you? Hoot me this Can I get it done when I'm just above the meniscus? I'm tweaked out, but that's just the way it crumbled When you're stuck in the past, it's murder Why would you dig that shit up? Fram di battam, wash di room fah mi chain Cup full ah piss An eh brimma', brimma', brimma' Si mi pan di news Mek mi choose, fools Cah mi jah rinna', rinna' I've been infested by people like you Who write things in cursive to seem more legit I'm beginning to understand the disappointment in that fuzzy head 'Cause how can you kill someone When you won't even make your bed? I'm the son of a bitch! And at wit's end I've stepped more stones than I comprehend There's nobody home inside Believe me, I've checked It's a frequent conundrum But hoot me this Can I get it done when I'm just above the meniscus? I'm freaked out, but that's just the way it tumbled If it's all up to me, let's murder Because fuck everybody else Fram di battam, wash di room fah mi chain Cup full ah piss An eh brimma', brimma', brimma' Si mi pan di news Mek mi choose, fools Cah mi jah rinna', rinna' I've been infested by people like you Who write things in cursive to seem more legit When an author writes disaster He picks words that can symbolize the way he feels The way he thinks The way he perceives the end And it almost happened Overgrown by weeds from my dark past It almost happened The murder seeds were planted by God's hand It almost happened It almost happened