What have you been doing,
why have you been smoking, gold 'benson and hedges'
it folds ya face into smo'key eyes, and the folk of elder flower wrinkle,
don't taste not even 1 percent like Camomile
Why have you been screwing around the people, as if little bits of scrap that holds things up - the support, sometimes bought from B&Q, homebase, MFI, now that it 'mind me, just for a while -
why you being 'local bike, with a bonus mile'
need some air in your tyre - or some, taken out of your head
gone whence the wind, and then 'boom in the willows'
smoke didn't drip like the blood...
there was a prisioner, that got stick for the killings
I sat the prisioner down and said these words
'look, you didn't kill them, it was the bullet that got them, took them... you just pulled the trigger. If forces were excluded, the smoke wouldn't joke the pan, and the shit, wouldn't hit the fan,
so the fans hands will turn, and keep going, until the control of 'stop' comes...
we can't stop force though. it's all part of the layers, twists of the moon, zits of marks upon slits of equator
smoke the fag. clear the conscience
science shows - you're no killer///
only
to yourself"
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