Artists Are Shit

All this Anger

all this hate
every time I masturbate

all these women
throngs and throngs
makes me wonder
why so long

every morning I awake
I awake to wake and bake

I have desire
I have need
I’ve got a pipe stuffed with good weed

I’ve got that need
I’ve got that urge,
from a pool of sweat I do emerge.

got a knife
got a rope
finally some fucking hope

grab that woman, just a girl
into the wall the bitch gets hurled.

Even before for she hits the ground
I proceed to pound and pound

every whimper, every cry
one for every female lie

there I leave her to gasp and choke
while i take a break to smoke

I always like to take a puff
right before I film the snuff

to be an artist, one must be tough

I understand her will to live.

Can’t you see I’m sensitive?


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