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It's like some overbearing tax on praxis
How I'm supposed to feel bad for this
When all I've sworn to do
Is hold soul like a cold in haunted bronchial tubes
And my love for you
Is harmless as fallen fruit
Picked up quick how nice
Ajaw cradles a fist
You made it look like an accident
And no
No
One finds truth
Among tooth that March 'round
My parched mouth
Slinging science to the beat of their own gums
Ooh
Ooh
Ahh la lies we advertise
Bastardized pidgin insult
A lingua franca of
Heroes and villains
Failure
I don't know it any more than I know success
It ain't my mess
I won't baby you won't wipe your mouth
When the s**t talk stops
Oh stop
I won't baby you won't wipe your mouth