Books on my neck, held near my earlobe,
Cause my voice is known for placing knowledge like potholes.
With a bottle of Moscato, while fighting my inner demons,
Surrounded by books, bookhead, Yumiko readmen.
But without a mouth, there's no need to scream,
This ain't 1984, blinded high beams, Christine.
With sailors who fell from grace and drowned at sea,
Apparitions tell fates, romantic bliss, mizuki.
With stars, Izumi, break bars like chun li,
The fun be, caked, tars as she run thee,
MC, got women playing poles like litchi,
Aunty, full of tapes, uploaded to tell a story.
Royalty to smuts, kuroinu on my watchlist.
With a mother and daughter, controlled by this misfit.
Sicflics, nymphos addicted to the euphoria,
No blindfolds on, drip bleach in the Cornea.

Boasted gears, turn your skull red like rias,
Or smack you so hard, we be screaming Bueno dias.
Dance graves like Chika, ugly brash mockery,
Grab predators to bust their teeth, smashed dignity.
Integrity, no math rap stories, this is war,
Murder that ugly bastard as they get it on the floor.
With a floorboard, or a nailed in two by four,
No wonderland, but a Deadman choked by his own chord.
With pianos, wired in like its Evangelion,
The don, with Revy and Roberta to lean on.
So drown with the fishes in lagoons with your mistress,
And clean up affairs in households at the red light district.
With a stolen buick, brave enough to be a yankee,
Gokusens and delinquents, don't mess with Adachi,
With Tai chi, motherfuckers choke on some fuckin mochi,
As the final things you'll see are spirals and tomie, uzumaki.