With the Six Shooters Spree bein' at peace.
To lease the pain, but unleash the beast.
To dot all i's and cross all t's.
To Constellation Te, to back up with the Reptilian Brain.
With fortune and fame, the Hebrew Tribe the Gad.
But my God the analog, to see thru the fog.
To be a God, to anoint the King.
This is our National Anthem, we continue to sing.
And the song we preach as the pain isn't cheap.
To play for keeps? I'm done with the collect.
To collect the check on the Hollywood Set.
But this ain't the crash dummy, we avoid the wreck.
To wreck one's faith, their Sols at stake.
And the Red King's sustenace is always rare.
Wantin' to be fair, and to share the spoils.
To gather and abide, these are the Blueblood Royals.
But with the Exxon Mobile, and the sea Shell mail.
The bloodline that fails? That's only when ur in Hell.
And with bein' lit, with braille to the touch.
We don't use human intellect as the "crutch."
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