Cannibal.

Don't make me say it again.
Bullet to the crown, head to the floor.
Don't make me do this.
You've pushed me to the brink,
everything you say or do causes me to drink.

Tequila, tequila scrambles me up
from the tiniest playground where I was kicked in the mud.
Let's not talk about it
that hurts the brain.
I'm still holding the gun
causing you pain.

Mental pain?
You know little,
you seem happier when I'm fucking insane.
Train the brain, move to the beat of a drum,
my second to smallest finger
is pressing the barrel of the gun.
But it's okay,
it's alright,
I'll be sinking my teeth into brains tonight. 
It's okay.
It's just fine.
As long as the thoughts are not mine.