Слова:
Breathing Fire 40 Hours

Banausic life shaves my spine. Seven days of serrated boredom. This Failing routine is killing me. Content and dull. I strive for what's meaningless

There the camp of the Black Pope was placed His legions breath, through the valleys the raced Charlots they rode, and their skulls were iron-plated Belching fire

scared to face 50 Grand like Medusa The shit I produce is like gin and juice when it blend Scenes from Toni Braxton you'll Never Breath Again I rhyme

to my brain but I'm immune to the pain Satans will is stronger but it flew to my veins As I breath the rooms spinnin my breath was growing thin Death

the many demon dip Stuck to my face till my lungs embrace the death You see a crowd of souls choking on and smoking my breath Flat tire, no fire, stuck