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