This life got a jigga stressed out
The strife 'lot bigga than he'd th-ought
Dropsy hurt his mind left something behind
Topsy turvy his path seems more curvy
Than straight even without the hate
Doing a dance with fate at eight
Even though it feels more like nine
Surrounded by swine carrying the sign
Of Cain, quite profane sigils etched
On they brain, apathy that Masons sketched
From Babylon's blood cult sons they fetched
This blueprint, that's all this Jew'll hint
I refrain from consciously causing pain
But the stain unconsciously switching my lane
Getting bucked off the faux high horse
Getting ****** out the ego lie of course
Getting lost sending this code morse