People these days
You don't know how to act

You follow the trends
And fill in things you lack

You'll be their best friend
But then stab them in the back

In our black sentence and prescriptions
You dance to your death

Playing around with things
Like acid and ****

With your gay canters
And chemical glee

With your low crooked curtsies
And your ignorant flee

You'll
Turn
Out
Like
Me