16.  23.  20.

Poor white trash who needs the cash memories of dead children's eyes is what lasts ever had someone stolen away poor blacks like back in the day every road I've slithered to play were long and sick in disgusting ways I've laid with lawyers doctors and bums ever eat green beans vacationing in slums tortured whipped Mental slave my mind my children and I play when life pulls over in the dessert and tricks you right out the car gets smaller scream shout the voices started then clawing to get out Reality lashes across my back puss with stout   why try lay to die the punk mayor explained why they need you on your feet a million more days you have to die my white pelt no good we mix all together really fix branded for life no turning slack the bloody letters stabbed across my back ... 687