Ker plop was the sound of the tin cup
Filled with a bullet blood pooling in my feet
And Johnny knows it itching in my throat
Slobbered word code but Connor's roof fan is still laughing though
Max's brass knuckles slide but couldn't help but drag
I operate the pod racer with just a single hand
Chris it would be best to reflect on your faults
But double down like me cause I'm so full of salt
The mirror is broken but I still hear Connors chuckle
Echoing through my hollow husk structure made of rubble
Sipping on the truth hot caffeinated and brown
The irony is that it comes whole not ground