Im tryin to cope, with feelins ill as death
Whisperin real close so, I feel his breath
Tellin me hes come for the realest left, that aint me
He points to Jeno in a painting
That looks like Jesus Christ
Wrapped up in a blanket, blood soaked, pieces sliced
I passed the weed, Death weezes twice
Said its the only thing thats ever eased his vice
Placed a please decice, when askin death for his pardon
I hardened a little, put a little God in the riddle
And for the rhymes the Devil tought me the Jargon a little
Bit at a time, but at the same time, I'd get a devine
Rhyme that wont catch on and take till im dead to define

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