Reaching Out West

V1:
I've got an aptitude for smacking fools bragging as they laugh and drool
Lacking basic synaptic action face down in a shallow pool
I see you stalling mystified as I smothered looks of wicked mongers
You need to crawl back inside your mother and cook a little longer

Fucker, this good luck, proved to be too lush, I stumbled and bruised much
Then crumbled and puked guts, I fumbled these loose sluts, just trying to bust nuts
What? Never had a lover I cared to discover more than a glimps while I'm hiding above her

Wide eyed with fire man, third eyes like spiders man
It's high time you cited your lines, you fuckin biter, damn
I'm just a blind driver riding a bike on a high wire
Inciting a sniper to fire on your piety and light desire

But fuck it I'm tired...
I tried to be inspired...
I strive harder in spite of lack of time fighting not to fly mired

V2:
I seem to die every time a part of me wants defeat
My tongue is harder in my cheek than a nail in a martyr's feet
I am the hopeless corrosive dosage of holstered components
All these dopeless composers boasting the most loco dome hits

Posin with the Joker smokin a stogie slow roastin a pony
Holy ones told me half my soul was decomposing and moldy
But I wore it more boldly, hoping I could strangle some phonies
Or at least bang a few whores, jeez, can I get an amen, please?

I know this crap is sac religious but I laugh at your convictions
The fact you take this serious is sad you sack of minions
Who asked of your opinion, you're mad that I won't give in?
I'm and addict with prescriptions pissing on a Merovingian

My head just keeps spinnin...
Dead from chasing women...
Fed up from dosing broken minds groping for a place to fit in

V3:
This soulless lack of focus is grosser than halitosis
Your corrosively packed hope kits are stasis locked and bogus
This pagan copped a bonus when a Mason sought to de-stone this
Drank some fago and awakened pasted with makeup throwing fits

I clenched my fist and lent my wrist to a damaged broken chick
Bristled with a stroke of vintage hope we're a copacetic fit
But I'm mostly a corrosive kid, coating up my throat with spit
Gloating as I spat upon your grave you token psycho bitch

Doting focal point of croaking vocal tones you hopeless toad
You stole the trope of misanthropes to paint a lonely homeless road
Soaking up the lost causes and bronze homage to mediocre
I sat and stroked your joke of an ego looking like a feeble ogre

Fighting to be sober...
Amidst shooting stars and green clovers...
My acid fractured scull needs closure so fuck it bitch bend over

V4:
I cloned a masochistic vision of giving women incisions
Then stitching inscriptions of misgivings that turned them to bitches
Conniving and viscous pissing crimson and spittin sulfur
Arriving suspicious limping and cringing with piteous dull words

This is insidious that culled herds poppin off hideously down turned
Backasswards jackin it to geriatrics I'm the miscreant of flow nerds
You're the bisquick mix of limp dick figures slobbin on my dip stick
You sick picket bitches pickin misfits to cripple your shit quick

Nibble on this a little bit before you bow to the rebels
You meddled in a bed of dead head fed up combustible devils
I'm better than these malevolent heckler peckers infecting pedestals
Levelin potential before it's perfected by plucking petals