Fuck the quick tock they’re clocking
Who’s watching them when they’re knocking
Rocking the red and blue lights sparkling
the night sky?

Don’t be fooled
That ain’t paint on the walls
Pants and hair up
They ain’t cool with the chains or the cars
But they want you in chains in the back of they’re cars

How the fuck is this supposed to make sense
A bunch of blasphemers
Unable to contain the monsters of their ancestors
Owners of the people pen
Wicked, wicked men
Stricken ‘till the end

Is this shit meant to end?
It cycles but has yet to spend
Tightropes barely hold a man

When it does they’re crooked
Looking for someone shook to hook in
Invisible fishing line to pull in
It happens all the time
It’s looping