Doubt

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Pariah

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I'll carry until death suspended by marionettes
Whiskey breath pairin' wit cigarettes; chest carrion flesh
Face carryin' stress. Nevertheless, I'll still cherish this hex
Aware I was rarely blessed, not wary of perishin' yet
Daring to take the steps to have it blarin' in ya tape decks
Cuz I ain't dead yet!
I'd rather be an unsung mumbler than a one-hit wonder
Then I'm asked why my numbers so real; it's no wonder
So long as I got a lung-full, a numb-tongue, and wanton hunger
I'll be there when you come undone and blunder
Woah, Pariah the type who dumb-spit thunder
Moses on the mic to rip the humdrum asunder
See these bastard kids pout and bitch, but all I heard was mumbles
They're passionless, lack countenance, and get shocked when they stumble
I smack the mouth of passivists and caught the rookie's fumble
So I pass the mouse a glass of milk and watch the cookie crumble

What's sadder? A life not lived or a life lived at discount
Guess it don't matter, guess the light dimmed down
Dead should be at rest now
Zombies walkin' streets, sun too bright got they head down
Shoot for the stars and burn up upon reentry
Won't stop you lookin' up, that urge too tempting
Hope don't absolve souls when your bowl's turned empty
How you call it a story when it's only got an ending?

I could piddle peddle hella sixes and tens
Just a little dick messin' wit pencils and pens; it just depends
On what this wiz-kid gets himself in 
Spit some intelligence, adrenaline, and mix it all in
Yo I heard the story, observed in Purgatory, returned wit words of glory
Herds of unheards murdered slowly
Bashful sissy bitches sick of being Sisyphus wishers 
Rather lick Swishers to mask the sick symptoms
Dim-witted cadavers, but then again why listen to a rapper?
Who's just a simple little asshole
Mixed wit all the rabble 
Tryna get back on the saddle and tower out of Babel
But all I do is dribble and dabble
Hope the spittle'll stab through you brittle, whittled bastards
You fragile, shackled jackals find nice things blinding
Eyes bleed, lackin' Visine
You cats act dead like crackheads with pipe dreams

What's sadder? A life not lived or a life lived at discount
Guess it don't matter, guess the light dimmed down
Dead should be at rest now
Zombies walkin' streets, sun too bright got they head down
Shoot for the stars and burn up upon reentry
Won't stop you lookin' up, that urge too tempting
Hope don't absolve souls when your bowl's turned empty
How you call it a story when it's only got an ending?

"They chose to die, because they had hope..."

"I look at niggas faces when they die, like the last face that
You know was left; you know what I mean? 
Because that-that-I seen niggas mad in the box...
You know what I mean-see some niggas get killed over shit and you (See)
He (Know) he fucked up...He (Know) he fucked up
And that face is, that face is on him right there..."

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