[Hook x2: Goretex]
Born of fire, feeling like I’ve been here before
My life’s flashing right in front of my face I think I see the door
They’re watching us all inside us with the monitors
Everybody lied to us, nuking, saying goodbye to us
[Verse 1: Goretex]
Rocking cloaks like Moses vocal commandments
War between planets, a galaxy broken in fragments I saw the damage
It never mattered, when people died I was told to manage
Emotion frozen, being poor with no mattress
Surviving the madness, 3 baby moms in Paris
I'm well travelled these actresses the drama queens and addicts
The backstabbers, yes-bitches and psychic vampires
Flipping on Xanax, shit maggots, I’m high on fire
Seeking the truth, My karma’s straight I’m eager to shoot
Cinder blocks rock your dome if the reason is loot
Season to flip, kick the four fifths, sick is the whole clique
In Amsterdam, I window shop, I bought the whole strip
86 the Projects were run by vets
Baby Manson’s pumping the thickest cables and sweats
Took food stamps and traded them for blank cassettes
Gang wars up in the elevators, shanks and techs
Blockhouse beepers, acid-washed pants and decks
Possessed shirt, 6th grade, Pentagram on the chest
I’m still stressed, real as a test, we sell amends
Memories are like tortured issues and buryin' friends
Born of fire, feeling like I’ve been here before
My life’s flashing right in front of my face I think I see the door
They’re watching us all inside us with the monitors
Everybody lied to us, nuking, saying goodbye to us
[Verse 1: Goretex]
Rocking cloaks like Moses vocal commandments
War between planets, a galaxy broken in fragments I saw the damage
It never mattered, when people died I was told to manage
Emotion frozen, being poor with no mattress
Surviving the madness, 3 baby moms in Paris
I'm well travelled these actresses the drama queens and addicts
The backstabbers, yes-bitches and psychic vampires
Flipping on Xanax, shit maggots, I’m high on fire
Seeking the truth, My karma’s straight I’m eager to shoot
Cinder blocks rock your dome if the reason is loot
Season to flip, kick the four fifths, sick is the whole clique
In Amsterdam, I window shop, I bought the whole strip
86 the Projects were run by vets
Baby Manson’s pumping the thickest cables and sweats
Took food stamps and traded them for blank cassettes
Gang wars up in the elevators, shanks and techs
Blockhouse beepers, acid-washed pants and decks
Possessed shirt, 6th grade, Pentagram on the chest
I’m still stressed, real as a test, we sell amends
Memories are like tortured issues and buryin' friends
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