I take a cigarette from a pack of Kools, put it to my lips so I can look cool
I'm a f*cking genius, but I'm shit in school
I'm a stoner with an IQ of 142
Walking on a dirt road, the sun's strong on my neck
I hear the rattlesnake, singing songs that smell like death
A white wife beater stained yellow with my sweat
I'm looking for some shade so I can finally get some rest
What's that sound
Wandering souls in a long dead town
Vivid heat waves rising out of the ground
My steps are silent but my pain is loud
Like Ethan Fromm
I'm married to the road I don't have a home
Two hundred milligrams straight to the dome
Sand, clay, silt like I'm trying to make loam
I might as well roam
Sand on sand got an orange hue
My feet are hot but my neck is red
My shirt is stained but at least I'm not dead
No shade in sight
The sun is bright and it's far from night
There's no more hope
There's no more life
I've fully given up, I'll just wrong my rights
Brother's at the door
Brother's got the light
Brother wants some more
Brother wants to fight
Brother's at the door
Brother's got the light
Brother wants some more
Brother wants to fight
Brother's at the door
Brother's got the light
Brother wants some more
Brother wants to fight
Brother's at the door
Brother's got the light
Brother wants some more
Brother wants to fight