Take the Alcohol with Milk Mr. Clutch

Hey there, Mr. Clutch, don't be so anti-reality,
Do you have a gripe with society?
wondering why its content with normality,
is out of place, out of context, in a time it deals with fatalities,
we walk the pavement,
we see the poor looking for some heroin,
while the upper man hits the weights living with his mirrors filled with ignorance and juicing,
heavy glow, blowing that puff puff away, forget the rest and have a mind trip,
yea relax bitch and let the grand prestige marquee show go off the rails,
skin that bitch we call it in the different lands or better yet; third countries?
say the killer who haves no spleen just a will to see you bleed,
dedicated to the anonymous person who praises songs of ease,
while the realist, hard achieving, over thinkers, see the fall, clinching our teeth, we sink, in this glorious rotten dying machine.