Dispatch Therapy by SevidemiC

Who's even making anything anymore? Truth ever-vacant; I've forsaken plenty for. Food work. Brazen and unnecessary. Torn. Few earn a place at the table to be sure. Sore at the whole race. Cracking at the core because of old taste. Manually stored in a cold case. Rationale is scorned in a roll cage. What the role takes is a real player. Not worried about what the people feel later. Not sure if he's human, they see a seal breaker. Got hurried in the door so I could steal paper. When in Rome, kill 'em all. Leave it open-ended. When his sole incentive in water is hold them in it for a minute. The Shimmer offering no religion. Equidistant to hell and heaven, it's your decision. They don't listen anymore, though.

Souls know souls. No souls. Solar body. Sew no body. Quickest impression is in a headshot. So, nobody will miss you. No, nobody will miss you. Dispatch.

Sick of all this sorry ass sap sucker simp shit. You can all succumb to the temptress. Legba will end this. Get relentless. We're the misfits with evil interests. Modded up for countermeasure. Pussy, keep scraps; we are out for better. Would he beast back? Nigga found the treasure. You can lead last, I'm on 'now or never.' Conversation over. Get to DT. Holy cross inverted - divinity ceasing. Rolling off a pearl, I'll learn 'em when the bees sting. No, we're not for worldly riches or weaklings. The Meat open their hymnal for The Unburied. They're all making faces - ain't a one scary. Put him in their places over some fairy. Hate to break it to you - I'm a gun, Gary. They don't listen anymore, though.

• Hip-Hop/Rap
• Zombie Music
• Albuquerque