Another Day To Wake Up And Say Fuck You

Another day to wake up
Take the trash out to the backyard
And battle this kingdom of rats for Asgard with these glass shards leftover from the domestic disputes going on in the apartment upstairs.
I’ve been to Hell and back, with no passport.
Stole the soul of Satan only because I’m a poor sport.
Especially when it comes to gambling with gods.
Bowling with demons.
Folding the odds, let’s say we make it even?
Pal, ol’ buddy...
You call me a Heathen just because I don’t have the money
How pathetic.
I’m sick of hearing writers, so fucking wise, so zen
Telling me I don’t have a sense of rhetoric.
Stuck in their trance of intellectual masturbation.
Excessive use of such robust speech only to hear themselves speak
Keep kissing yourself in the mirror.
You’re a martyr with no cause.
Let’s all give A ROUND OF APPLAUSE
For the modern day Shakespeare as said a million times before.
Get over it, he’s dead. So is Tupac, so is Biggie smalls.
Fuck. Are they the only rappers you know of aside from 95% percent of the underground who are caucasian?
Yet you tell me you can’t rap because you’re WHITE and you’re not Eminem.
According to billboards and angsty teenage prebubescents, the ONLY rapper on the planet who’s songs have meaning? Give me a break.
You want to be diverse so you put down the pad and pen, pick up your fancy iphone, grab the keys and get in your car to have the radio tell you what to listen to, the same songs on heavy rotation raping your ears until you have been infected with Stockholm Syndrome accepting whatever is given to you like you were just fucked at gunpoint by a crazed dope fiend.
Then you go down to Dunkin' Donuts or the nearest Starbucks which is pretty much every fucking square mile away from anyone wandering the planet Earth, maybe even MARS.
Don’t even attempt to correct me, I’m not a math guy, I know I’m not that smart.
 
So do I sound like an old man yet? So you say beer is not classy? It’s for old people so you would prefer binging Baccardi at parties every Saturday you say.
How’s that “dank ass kush” going for you buddy? The indica that was probably pulled right out of your friendly neighborhood drug dealer’s arsehole or his local dispensary AKA his backyard.
Keep calling me a hipster because I don’t find an interest in My Little Pony, Minecraft, Call of Duty and Parkour and AIDs infected whores.
Don’t you see? This is what happens when you give the asshole the pen and a piece of paper.
 
P.S. I hope you’re smoking oregano.