They'll let you rot in mildew,
And they'll just let that **** you.
They'll turn your greens into blues,
And burn you like a dynamite's fuse.

They would make sure your last breath,
Is covered in the stench of death,
They'll show you that this was life's debt,
And that when you're right, you have nothing left.

If you happened to be a girl and cute,
They'd take your purity as loot,
Sever your neck with bamboo till you're mute,
And all of this will be before they shoot.

They'll cuff your leg two sizes to small,
So that you slouched even if you're tall,
They'd make sure you'd answer death's call,
And they'll laugh when they take your all.