BUILDING BLUEPRINT
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Lyrical Analysis of...
Syringe City
- This is my city, tinged with syringes, it's gritty
- With binges and fifties, bitches sift on plenty
- They lift on many, then shift gone mentally
- Dentally earn their rent for free
- Grown men saunter aimless, nameless shadows stained press
- Rained stress causes them to confess, that the smog is less
- Than smothering breath
- Said in mothering death, that spews whats left
- Of a used soul that doled its dole, rode its role until corrode
- Like drained diode set to explode
- As gained values erode and elope
- The slope of hope declines from lines of dope, minds bind
- As coke lines blind, those who try the rinds of coca vines
- Just smoke ya some pine, sip on some wine, then trip out on tryptamine
- This is my city, tinged with binges, bitches, shifty shit to see
- Of poverty, squalor fee, it's basic psychology, or maybe astrology
- That some babies gotta be luckier than others, but duck, run and cover
- Cause you might just shudder, as you tuck and get stuck in the gutter
- Unable to utter but a mutter
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