There were a couple sets of chillens hanging out along the street
Some were somewhat suicidal some were happy as could be
As the vendors passed them plentiful they couldn't hear a cent
They were infinitely deaf but they were definitely fed
Many mothers made a mockery of misestablished teens
Furthermore a few good fathers felt like somewhere in between
States of salvage and avoidance, no good deed goes unabolished
Even deities will admit they are often being modest
Luck’s a virtue that you earn when your fortune is awry
Greasy fingers on the death grip and a shitstain in your eye
Looking forward to the past, reminiscing on the future
Winning useless competitions constantly makes you a loser
When the weather bears a beating on the roofs of all our homes
Where the streets will remain nameless the like marrow of our bones
And the flesh is tied to tendons with the joints and stars aligned
And the words detached from focus so they remain undefined

Four score before the warlords abhorred
And more Gores were floored when hardcore was born
The rest we detest but blessed for the scorn
Our scars unaddressed our mouths chapped and worn
We fly through the sky with fists raised up high
We try to defy the laws of our lives
With freshly-sharp knuckles we punch-paint the clouds
With childrens' cheap chuckles we snarl through the now

Suburban moms walk upon suburban lawns
And somewhere somebody pops off the car alarms
In a parking lot full of Jaguars and Jeeps
Stickers range from Romney to The English Beat
Got a conscience streaming from coast to coast
And a house that’s screaming from ghost to ghost
I’m centered on a scale from twit to fool
I feel bad for the kids who were too school for cool
I got coughing soul and a whirling tilt
A congested skull and a heart to wilt
Will the end be nigh, or just past the course?
I’ll probably make it there with my anxious force
I live in conditions that are wished by some
I hope one day they find what they want to become
In one way or another you can be considered skilled
Even if you got nothing that could be considered thrilled

Four score before the warlords abhorred
And more Gores were floored when hardcore was born
The rest we detest but blessed for the scorn
Our scars unaddressed our mouths chapped and worn
We fly through the sky with fists raised up high
We try to defy the laws of our lives
With freshly-sharp knuckles we punch-paint the clouds
With childrens' cheap chuckles we snarl through the now

The stroll through the unknowing parts of the ozone
The horrible bridge trolls’ affordable bitch tolls
The worrying wart stings untreatable palm sweats
The blurrier class wants foreseeable loose necks
I flex out my fingers, illusion the motions
I bite out the face smear, I lose all control sense
I’m bittering dumbfound, distracted and useless
I’m jittering scum mouth, obstructed and bruised in

Four score before the warlords abhorred
And more Gores were floored when hardcore was born
The rest we detest but blessed for the scorn
Our scars unaddressed our mouths chapped and worn
We fly through the sky with fists raised up high
We try to defy the laws of our lives
With freshly-sharp knuckles we punch-paint the clouds
With childrens' cheap chuckles we snarl through the now

Five years or more we slept through the core
Of Earth’s whole existence, out reaching for
A person to hold, a small thing to grasp
We raced to be first, we weren’t built to last
We crawl on the ground with soil in our mouths
Our roots seeded down in outdated rounds
Of small aspirations, larger to kids
Who don’t know the meaning of “unfulfilled”
Six stick to something they don’t believe
They’ll wash out the stains but can’t wash between
The minds they corrupted, rustic they seem
And branched out to nowhere, blast off to dreams
Assembly of seven solipsistic sons
Whose sins set the cryptic syco-phantoms
And taste buds immune to bloated fat tongues
Reactive to nothing but freshly cut blood