Hi,
Scars in you, son,
You shrug it off.
Except that you don't.
Better it surely
It don't fall out.
Said,
I live low,
I lisp, I die,
Sugar shooting,
Bled with deadbeats,
Only crawl.
So your sad eyes,
Quite Christian
Blood.
Drop it, it's dead.
We drop it
And took the body home,
Sad eyes.
Scars, I'm chopping dagger,
See you'll never walk,
Only stagger.
Sad eyes,
Quite Christian
Blood.
Vova
