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letra de the crucifixion of saint anger - rural internet

[intro: doin’ fine]
b-tch i-

[verse: doin’ fine]
f-ck
i’m tired of rappin’ ’bout trauma
every time that i did it i did it ’cause i had to, not ’cause i wanna
praying my [?]
my mom asking me to hear it, that sh-t scare me to my core, yeah
everyone want me to be a wh0re, yeah
when’s the last time you got paid to get your f-cking knees on the floor, yeah?
huh, f-ck music, i’m s-x workin’
and my b-tch, she a s-x worker
f-cked him, got his legs hurtin’
give the fake b-tches [?]
yeah, i’m tired of rappin’ ’bout trauma
think i just gave him a daughter, ’cause i just hit it raw, yeah
trust that he knows his body, plan b in the drawers
but sh-t i got paranoia, i still hit it raw though
mе and you could be like stevе lacy in this b-tch in the back of the mall
yeah b-tch i’m a mall goth, with the checkerboards yeah
hope that this sh-t is iconic ’cause [?] b-tch
why the f-ck i make this record?
i make this sh-t for char and luca ’cause my voice coming second, i put myself against some real struggle
got me pathetic, ’cause i don’t wanna talk about pain
but i’m a tranny so it’s expected
you will never tire of me crying about s-xual confessions
how by fifteen i knew what it was to be used as a weapon
how i hate being pretty
’cause they didn’t need to pressure me into sending anything explicit
they just used my selfies
i feel naked everywhere, you see my face is an extension
he put me on the tv, everything has to be censored
softcore face, dsls, and triple x’s
think the image of that tribute, it burned into my retinas
and think about when you hear me rapping this you repeating the transgressions
don’t make art, i make p-rn
this is god i handed [?]
b-tch i get real f-cked up in this one
mascara runnin’, cryin’, beggin’
for another [?] friday like a f-cking skype session
[?]
’cause i know it sounds so painful to express all of that pain
but the truth is it’s too natural, it’s in my dna
autopilot, a couple of minutes and my guts are on display
it’s beautiful and raw, it’s shocking what i create
well it’s f-cking easy, i f-cking hate it
it’s f-cking lame
saying so but [?] ’cause it’s all fame
if you fell in love with a stripper then i’ll rain on your parade
’cause most of you c-nts hear these lyrics about dismay
and get your rocks off, but get soft if the feeling’s changed
from look how abused that i was, to how it f-cks with me today
don’t claim to support victims if symptoms make you turn away
i’m talking about the ugly ones that get your support systems erased
i’m talking about the ones that you call out from standing on your crate
i’m talking about the ones in which i know you’re secretly engaged
creating anger across the culture while you’re passed through as a saint

[intro]
yuh, yuh, yuh, b-tch
you are watching a master at work
yuh, yuh
b-tch i feel like ceres fauna
i’m tired of rappin’ ’bout trauma, yuh

[verse 1: doin’ fine]
so you know that when you hear me talk about it being weaponized
but when hear this f-g’s a freak you don’t think that’s incentivized?
painted as buffalo bill, but you don’t look a second time
i don’t care if you’re a queer, i love all the queers that go f-ck and die
think about pentecostal preachers, wanna bleed you
to them we’re all freaks, pete b-ttigieg is a freak too
dave rubin is a freak too, [?] is a freak too
yo how the f-ck you think that they gon’ f-cking treat you?
how you different but don’t change the things you learned when they deceived you
how you have a change of heart, but forget it has to beat too
how you eat your heart out, but forget that they gon’ eat you
’cause goddammit i’m a freak, and like it or not you’re a freak too
let’s talk motivation and the consequences that that heat do
got enough to sue me next, shocked when they hit the street too
i think people k!ll themselves because of what you f-cking preach to
tell me to expect no violence, cosplayin’ as police do?
so it’s beautiful and raw, and shocking what i create
’cause i’m a freak, i f-cked the newtown alleys more than my domain
but that just make the newtown alleys a lot more like my domain
my elements chugging p-ss behind the 1989 party
[verse 2: doin’ fine]
i rap about the trauma, how i’m wrapped up in these chains
[?] on demand like it’s a tape
i don’t care if you can connect, come work on happiness today
wallowin’ in sadness just got me closer to the grave
and i don’t want tranny media to be synonymous with pain
i say that like i didn’t listen to the record we just made
i’m belittling my peers, what the f-ck i’m saying?
how dare i when i don’t gotta live from pay to pay
i don’t got money like that, but at least i got a place to stay
and a meal on the plate, and no depression in my brain
[?] but b-tch you can’t stop the rain
i ain’t lived like char or luca, so why the f-ck i complain?
add on to that the fact that we made this record about rage
but that’s some sh-t that i been at a way earlier age
anger issues my whole childhood, i drove my friends away
had to [?] as a kid, thinking about death every other day
i don’t get angry anymore, but when the music sounds this way
it’s like it’s beckoning me to scream along until my voice fades
can you make a record called saint anger when your anger’s in the grave?
and all your peers got sh-t to be angry about, you see it every day
and you hear it on repeat, mixing the vocals and the bass
when the anger’s so authentic, in comparison i’m fake
and all this sad sh-t make me tired, it’s too easy to relate
but what other option do i have? i don’t got no sh-t to say
that’s why i’m speaking all this bullsh-t like i’m savage at the bank
should’ve bought that versace, but it feels misplaced to claim
i’m in a trap of my own expression, with no one else to blame
i feel self entitled spitting this, taking up sp-ce
i’m not angry, i’m not a saint
i’m just tired of your gaze
i’m just tired of your deaf ears when i communicate
i ain’t even say i made this song to charlotte yet
truthfully, i might spit this and throw my laptop in the coogee beach
i might f-ck around and never speak again, get tattoos on me
pain catchin’ thirty three languages that have true to me
après ce chanson je se dosserie or [?] de vie
i don’t wanna tour america you yanks f-cking spook me
we as artists recognizes counters across all the movies
holding up pepsi cans shouting at you, “please come sue me”
and the blunts whisper to you, just itching you to shoot me
’cause i don’t think i can live without the mangoes in my smoothies
you can miss me around religion, it’s the same thing as truth
and i don’t wear the trueys ’cause i’m true blue, so b-tch i wear [?]
[outro: doin’ fine’]
motherf-cker
i’m not angry, i’m not a saint
i’m just tired of your gaze

- rural internet

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