Tekster:
The Suicide Machines All My People

nice common household products My teenage life as a boy soldier was inscribed in the blood of my parents Now I kill for approval from my commanders Barely remember my

but I'm stuck I should leave this rap shit alone and kick my incredible in rhymes in the privacy of my own home My imagination is my own delibity to speak

I explode My title is the king of the FM mode See, my volume expands to consume And my structures emote a lyrical heirloom Vacally pulsating, I initiate gyrating Ya must respond to my

button, wave the trunk, my camcorder peepin' schemes Blades chooppin' like karate, i done streched a mazarati Sippin drank and join my hottie, screenz