Primitive Man The Lifer
Hell all about me
All around me
Gnash the language
Of old
The lifer
Doesn't know where he goes
Only who he is
And what he runs from
Doom pouring down like hail
Hot foot powder
Hot foot powder at the base of my door
I used to be grounded
But true reality is hell
And hell is hell
Smothering and cruel
Sixteen years
Coming from pitch-black asphalt road
Blood
Blood, pissy mattresses, and hard floors
Monetization of the self
You're only one bad tour, one bad album, or one bad member
From falling apart
