• The demons inside are clawing at the door to my imagination, bleeding into my body, speeding me to my damnation leading Hell’s dilatation with intent of infiltration into your feebly established whore house to end your sick prostitution of our youth, the starvation of the world and taxation on our souls. When we come we intend to rake you over the colas, to take over your controls and crash this lying b***h into the wall ‘cause we’re sick of falling into your punji wholes. Rising high above your egos from the dirt and grim of life like a phoenix on the fly itching to escape this corporate lie, no matter how you beat me I refuse to die like my people’s land bleed dry, desolate and barren unforgiving and full of venom, force fed your poison on a silver spoon told to give up don’t shoot for the moon. They warn you I’m not worth a dime, not worth the time, chaos in the form of sex rocking high and snapping necks cumming hard and bending like a twisted wreck to complex, been annexed by the experts that couldn’t handle my effects, destroying projects and marching like Malcolm X. Causing death, take your last breath before I destroy you like mass produced meth.

    But I’m smooth and clear, straight to the point bringing wisdom like Madame Blavatsky’s crystal, an oracle with a pistol. Come march with me ye’ poisoned souls, smoke your last bowls and laugh before the winds of change blows, for the war is coming fast and I’m on the other side of the trench with my war paint on, singing for all those long gone. You ask me what I’m here for, to clean the world’s festering sore, to shake your foundation to the core for I am a woman with a warrior’s roar, to hard to ignore, drunk and high on the taste of insanity, searching for our lost humanity. Remember me when we take down your vanity, for I am the Espirt de Corps’, leading the war to end war.