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letra de doubt - pariah

[verse1: pariah]
i’ll carry until death suspended by marionettes
whiskey breath pairin’ wit cigarettes; chest carrion flesh
face carryin’ stress. nevertheless, i’ll still cherish this hex
aware i was rarely blessed, not wary of perishin’ yet
daring to take the steps to have it blarin’ in ya tape decks
cuz i ain’t dead yet!
i’d rather be an unsung mumbler than a one-hit wonder
then i’m asked why my numbers so real; it’s no wonder
so long as i got a lung-full, a numb-tongue, and wanton hunger
i’ll be there when you come undone and blunder
woah, pariah the type who dumb-spit thunder
moses on the mic to rip the humdrum asunder
see these b-st-rd kids pout and b-tch, but all i heard was mumbles
they’re p-ssionless, lack countenance, and get shocked when they stumble
i smack the mouth of p-ssivists and caught the rookie’s fumble
so i p-ss the mouse a gl-ss of milk and watch the cookie crumble

[hook: pariah]
what’s sadder? a life not lived or a life lived at discount
guess it don’t matter, guess the light dimmed down
dead should be at rest now
zombies walkin’ streets, sun too bright got they head down
shoot for the stars and burn up upon reentry
won’t stop you lookin’ up, that urge too tempting
hope don’t absolve souls when your bowl’s turned empty
how you call it a story when it’s only got an ending?

[verse 2: pariah]
i could piddle peddle h-lla sixes and tens
just a little d-ck messin’ wit pencils and pens; it just depends
on what this wiz-kid gets himself in
spit some intelligence, adrenaline, and mix it all in
yo i heard the story, observed in purgatory, returned wit words of glory
herds of unheards murdered slowly
bashful sissy b-tches sick of being sisyphus wishers
rather lick swishers to mask the sick symptoms
dim-witted cadavers, but then again why listen to a rapper?
who’s just a simple little -sshole
mixed wit all the rabble
tryna get back on the saddle and tower out of babel
but all i do is dribble and dabble
hope the spittle’ll stab through you brittle, whittled b-st-rds
you fragile, shackled jackals find nice things blinding
eyes bleed, lackin’ visine
you cats act dead like crackheads with pipe dreams

[vox:]
“they chose to die, because they had hope…”

[vox:]
“i look at n-gg-s faces when they die, like the last face that
you know was left; you know what i mean?
because that-that—i seen n-gg-s mad in the box…
you know what i mean—see some n-gg-s get k!lled over sh-t and you (see)
he (know) he f-cked up…he (know) he f-cked up
and that face is, that face is on him right there…”

- pariah

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