Rick was twenty nine
Thinking he had plenty of time
To keep on chasing his dreams
With rent to find..
Shaking his means..
As hes taking his green Like Autumn
Determination was never shortened
He kept going On like he was frisky
B'cos all the females left him briskly
He was bristly, With matted hair
Constantly attatched to his chair
The plats were everywhere
Never a moment in despair
But his life..Could never be repaired
He wasn't prepared.. to understand
It doesn't make you a man..To loose
Then keep on trying & can't choose
What to do..What will really help you
But this.. Is what he persued
Just like his lyrics.. Rick was screwed
Slick to spew..Out his emotions
He had more devotion.. to work hard
Than hand jobs from whores..The worst scars
We're that on society.. With his dynasty
His life rubbed of Like the pencil..
He was temperamental.. detrimental
To his sanity.. There was no real calamity
He lived in a bloody period Like sanitrys
His blood, sweat & tears
. .Tugged his chest near
To his passionate red ink
A dead brink Leer-Rick to Lyrics
Even though he wasn't meant for it..