Curtis on the Hiss

This going be that

That shit

That's it

That shit

That's it

That shit

Product of minding my business

Couldn't say her of him did it or didn't

Either he got it or he gon' get it

Either he not or he with it

That's winning

Wicked witching, mathmatician

Melt the mortal morsel

Moping in motels

Hop bells

And ending up with a chin swelled

At the Bottom of the jar where the ink dwells

Ink spots and the drells where Archie yells

Tighten up or hold tight

In a vacant lot with Kobra Kai

Sweeping legs wings and thighs

Type of doughy eyes Bowie mind

Goblin king pokemon, that Lenny Lisa and Zoey find

Velladrom, so inclined

Feeling well at home, homies high

Some always with me that's no surprise

Until they die

I can't deny

It scathe the hide

Delayed the hype inside

But such is life in time

The shit we do when we got nothing to prove

The shit we say when we don't care anyway

The shit we find when nothings on are mind

The shit we need so are people can proceed

In Coney Island sat in silence

Sky dark and violent

The drone of titans drowning

A lone figure found him

Squared roots would hound him

Holding court pulse pounding

the currents grounded

Acting so astounded

spirit split like fingers pointed

Annointed instrument

Succulent needle prick

A blunted beatle kiss

Be he the glass or the brick

House full of flicks no hits

Just hips, and Curtis on the hiss