Dirty Shitting Mental Bloodshed

Fucking Lucking sarcasm.
That fucking hideous disaster is walking down the street again.
What a fucking crackhead.

Even a month ago, thing's wernt so bad.
Wernt ain't some word?
Month ago'd wernt bad.
Now we see it's shitting December,
It's so fucking hot,
More so then November.
What did you expect, It's December.

"I guess things got bad for the both of us, different ways," said me.

"I guess things were always bad for the both of us, either way," said she.

And a drag off the Camel menthol, both did we.

Everything seems longer when your body's hurting.
A hike back to warmth in the cold, it's hurtin'.
A hike back to home in the cold, it's hurtin'.
Cause we got no where to go, it's working.

And yes, screech at me in the halls of this building.
It's not my fault he wasn't giving me my fillin'.
Cause I'd keep fucking up, let's just face it,
I fucked up.
Let's just face it, us and we, I believe, I'm a fuck up.

Shouldn't I be lucky, and shouldn't I be glad.
But fuck, I just love misery, I love the stench of sad.

I love it when the rain starts on the worst day of my life,
Which happens to be the 67th worst day of my life.
To fit that cliche mark, where weather causes misery.
If I felt like rhyming there, I believe I would say strife.
Instead of misery.

"Life's good." say they.

"Fuck them." said we.

In the channels of this building, I repeat, I need a toast
To those fucking begging fuck ups
That need a Marlboro to roast.

Oh, I did just describe myself.
Cause a month ago, things were bad.
But wernt as bad.

As the grayest day of your fucking sad ass black and white life.

Because for us kids, there's no where else to turn.
We have dreams and emotions, but they're rotting and churned.
No one needs us around.
Keep your feet on the ground,
Kid.
Cause one day, we're never gonna make it big.

As for me, I'm the crackhead,
As for you, your the fuckup,
Let's just lay around until

The Grim Reaper picks our sad asses up.