I'm an illiterate fuck, see me, when I go, whenever I flow, I spit insanity.
Nothing, no one, I've ever seen or heard, can handle me.
I'll bop off my rockers and pop into my pills.
Ill I feel my skills, growing colder and somewhat older.
I can feel my brain growing rapidly.
1, 2, 3, times I've tried to explain my mental situation.
All three times, complete, total, evacuation.
Unheard of, unseen, my senses, are fucking keen.
I'm lean, not quite tall, but undoubtedly, a killing murderous machine.
Because I stopped giving a fuck, a long time ago.
Listen to my flow, let the words come by slow.
I'll sever your brain with one single fucked up deign.
When you have to live with, or even witness this much pain,
it's easy to quickly go insane.
Feeling the flame, inside of you, quickly grow hotter and hotter.
Until you don't even bother, to try and contain it.
You eventually explode, let your built up anger unload.
Onto any individual, unfortunate enough to be caught in the blast.
You cast, a new cloud, a shroud, of just yelling for the sake of being loud.
Wanting to be heard, but everyone ignores your pleas for help.
Have to fend for yourself.
You've fought more demons than any God or mighty lord or greater power.
You've concurred everything and anything in your way.
But this, the one thing that may have seriously aided in these battles.
Everyone you know, says so.
But what if without it, you lose control.
You completely lose it, all of the time.
Those demons you concurred come back and recur.
But this time, you lose, and you get swallowed whole.
Sobriety, the one thing Bueno's truly afraid of.
He has handled gangsters and wanna be's.
He has gone to Hell and come right back.
Ready to attack, but this.
This has been his fuel, the only thing to control his rage.
Now without it, there could be complete chaos.
The loss, of family members.
Seeing what he was before the drugs.
What he meant before he shot slugs.
He doesn't know if he can do this.
This could truly be, what kills me.
What pushes me over the edge,
Fuck, I'm already on the ledge.
I'm not sure if I want to see what's behind the hedge.
He's going to try, he's willing to attempt.
He will not die, he wants to feel contempt.
He's tired of the cry, he's been unkempt.
He's fucking ready, going steady.
Fuck it, I'm done. But I've only began.
