Untitled Song

what's poppin its slothman hoppin like an off brand chalk crayon

talking but boxed in a box like a coffin locked in from the bottom

and coughing from the top end in his stalking's rocking those hot things

cause sloth man doth can do what he ought can no stoppin his awesome

stunts like a possum acting dead but crossing the undead rotting

and flogging them to shreds and chopping off their heads like a guillotine

he's a bee spreading the buzz of history were going to feel the sting

giving us books to read deciphered in a mystery cant know a thing

now we weep crying on our knees in misery under slothman who is the king

and were the enemy constantly suffering his penalty filling me

with illing things ending me this history making me jittery bitter

toward his hindering of my liberty viciously and endlessly

fantasizing his jealousy over my felonie