Blanket Sick Conditioning

you sick blankets

should you ever believe I belong

beneath your determining twisted sick

you sick blankets

should you ever believe you're stronger

than a twisted bitch twitch

you sick blankets

it ain't me I cry for, twisted sick mentality
it ain't me I cry for, twisted sick mentality

black obama

change, you hang your sick blankets upon

it ain't me I cry for, twisted bitch sick mentality

twisted bitch sick mentality

You sick blankets.

You are sick to me.

I, me and she? Find you...(lacking, you slacking, blackening, grudge judge)

I find you.

Bars!

Pass them!

Bars!

Place us behind them!

for you I'll bleed my magenta mouthy, blood bile into your cavernous

black tunnel Kavorcian sound:

Your twisted bitch sick would've if you could've, the swings

the sings, things you should've, you cry inside

OBAMA

?lynch a sick bitch?

Preside a dreaming, cascading fit

cause you ain't never been my blanket

except

you decide to acquit when your PRECIOUSLY PRESERVED PRESIDENTS

is legit-

A MATE; YOUR CRATES: don't capture what you

hope to create

you twisted sick bitch-blanket dicks!!!

How you discover me?

How you haunt me?

How you disguise me?

How you gon' know me?

How in the FUCK is you gon' know me?

Black robe drappery, my cappery, you ain't my fucking flattery.

White nosed, pink cheeked and sitting?

You may at the very pink least stand

While you determine your sick

LiSTEn!!!!!!!

Fucking listen~!:

Sick.

Twisted.

Sick.

Bitch.

Blanket.

Twitches?

Don't you, PLEASE, understand?

Under.

STAND.

ASS

Whole?

Imagine.

Give a way behind your thought of mine.

Perhaps.

Sit, as any other, where are you better

than the chick behind the counter

deciding if my purrr-chase is worthy kind?

you're black drapery

you

ain't never gonna make me, break me, quake me

oh, my wounded wings!

I know it. I smell it. I bleed it.

Oh, my raging quire. Oh, my raging quire.

Singing your quiet twisted bitch sick twitch lynch!

'Cause you ain't got the bravery to hate openly what you long to create.

Pathos, for you haven't any bravery hate to open what you long to create.

Oh, my raging choir. Oh, my raging choir.

What distinct detriment is mine

to voice your hateful time.

Oh, my raging quire. Oh, my raging quire.

You're sadly, so deadly twisted sick liars.

Oh, my raging quire.

Oh. Oh. Oh.

Diar, this vocality I see

of your twisted sick bitch mentality.