i'll eat glass for breakfast, punch babies with bricks/
if its a mic i'm touching then its rabies i spit/
so i'm loco, i dont know, what planet i'm on/
if sanity is a hare race then my rabbit is gone/
i'm grabbing my gun, oh wait, thats a pair of hedge trimmers/
but i can still use them to make your head thinner/
i twist arms backwards like i'm opening jam jars/
i giggle when i sit still, i'm schizo, this plans ours/

and im out. and very very ill.