Djjapp777
Bluelighter
Generic general General,
Generally justifying yourself as the junction of wrong and right, I'm here to let you know that this is our night and our song, yet you fight them all, even the light and young. With words caught in your throat, from the dung dancing in your mouth, you've crossed our forbidden mote, and cloned our infamous South. You are not kindly looked upon, kind Sir. Your holy cause is our Holocaust, your general sight is our genocide. You think you're a great man... no... you're just another seat-filler serial-killer dime'dozen rave-miller.
Generic General of the General Public, you have your public affairs, your campaign affairs, money affairs, corrupt affairs. Rascist affairs, power affairs, bribe affairs, marital affairs. We understand you're jealous of the DJs who move larger stones than you, the pushers who are better friends to us than you could ever be. This is just an unjust unfair affair faring far greater problems because you think you really care. Yet you're still cautious to dare the muffled bass and snapping snare so you share your wealth with the people who do what you can't do yourself and you use your ears to read a paper instead of using your eyes to hear the people. It's just so wrong, but it's been that way for just too long that it's just like listening to that new pop song - same ass shit, just seems twice as long...
And now Degenerate General of the Genetically Inbred, Undead, Unsaid Republic... Your army marches up and our clubs come down, "Forget finding a cure let's just burn the town down." That's the motto you live by as you do another flyby of the target assessed, and you still wonder why people want a bullet in your chest? Kind Sir, there was Mozart, there was Elvis, there were The Beatles... this is bigger than any of that. Fight us, and "PLUR" will be the motto you die by.
Signed,
Myth&Faith
Generally justifying yourself as the junction of wrong and right, I'm here to let you know that this is our night and our song, yet you fight them all, even the light and young. With words caught in your throat, from the dung dancing in your mouth, you've crossed our forbidden mote, and cloned our infamous South. You are not kindly looked upon, kind Sir. Your holy cause is our Holocaust, your general sight is our genocide. You think you're a great man... no... you're just another seat-filler serial-killer dime'dozen rave-miller.
Generic General of the General Public, you have your public affairs, your campaign affairs, money affairs, corrupt affairs. Rascist affairs, power affairs, bribe affairs, marital affairs. We understand you're jealous of the DJs who move larger stones than you, the pushers who are better friends to us than you could ever be. This is just an unjust unfair affair faring far greater problems because you think you really care. Yet you're still cautious to dare the muffled bass and snapping snare so you share your wealth with the people who do what you can't do yourself and you use your ears to read a paper instead of using your eyes to hear the people. It's just so wrong, but it's been that way for just too long that it's just like listening to that new pop song - same ass shit, just seems twice as long...
And now Degenerate General of the Genetically Inbred, Undead, Unsaid Republic... Your army marches up and our clubs come down, "Forget finding a cure let's just burn the town down." That's the motto you live by as you do another flyby of the target assessed, and you still wonder why people want a bullet in your chest? Kind Sir, there was Mozart, there was Elvis, there were The Beatles... this is bigger than any of that. Fight us, and "PLUR" will be the motto you die by.
Signed,
Myth&Faith
