A yo, I'm three feet lower, weighted down in sexy pigeons, empty pockets,
Equal dollars, tally marks are my religion, Mr. crispy gives sex looks,
All for broken fame, I bounce hard like check books, yo kool is always lame.
Come soft with no shame, come again or come clean, this number 5 is just an
Album, solo minds love to scream, this is what I mean, I'm fallowed hard
By just a few, for the love of selling albums, tainted minds I must
Pollute,
And this is why, crispy is just a title, swung hard in shallow thoughts,
Point the finger at my rival, shattered hearts are suicadal, I dust it off
And stand alone, if only Lindsay would stop to hug me, I'd spread my love
And count my bones, tuned out I phone home, blessed hearts, they count for
Something. yes, I live for wet t-shirts, wasted thoughts and bounty
Hunting.
Yo I taste of suffering, I did it all by myself, smoke free, we crushed
The bookworms, smile I need help, scuff marks and no one else, give power
To the foolish, I guess this is how I felt, please watch me spill the
Fluids, busted locks I eat the ghoulish, step forth and kill me
Constantly, Danny's a poor boy little man stop mocking me.
And this is why-we eat up all the young,
I can't decide-why we waste the tongues,
And this is why-we're locked in faded hums,
Yo and please don't die, cause the heads will cry.
I swing hard little man, better yet I swing soft, Mr.Crispys ultra violent,
Extra toss the rocks off, that's the small talk, lost in never, never
Land, I breath a fistful of sorrow, smiles always where I stand, kill em
All was the plan, wasters filled with nice dreams, I'm a road feed
Impostor, nothings ever what it seems, live life through magazines, I'm so
Tasty like lemon aid, self taught I stand in britches, walk soft and break
My legs,
Lindsay's love is serenades, ow wait, I'm switching topics, I've been know
To crumble quickly, crispys silent in silver lockets, bad luck in my
Pockets, I reek of fire balls, while the rest of the world is just so
Empty, I play my songs to prank calls, simply gone when I fall, through
The streets of eye candy, holding thoughts of Christmas cookies holds me
Down until the landing, it's just the chest of understanding, screams the
Man who shouts in Berkley, all the voices inside my head, we pray silent,
It's never working,
I am jack's alter ego, I am nothing never more, little Danny plays in
Dollars, loves his life while on tour, turns his nose to the whores,
Buries his head inside his pillow, home stretch is just a road, as I gaze
Up out the window.