The Resurrectionist

I painted self portraits on my casket top
Then I blast it off, dirt flying the coroner coughed
Deport the congressman to a foreign land, I ain't need him
Brain corrodes through my skull to get even
With me, ghetto Chronicles read like Christie
Red beam, strong winds done blown off his dome piece
Desist and cease, or at least try and prolong your decease
I'm a ruler, if I die, it'll be on March 15th
Cross the street, it's almost like a different nation
Where stairwells smell like piss crack and desperation
But face it, the children bloom like rotten carnations
Putting in work for the misdeeds, they submitting to satan

Stack bricks Appalachian, deep thinkers in a wasteland
These motherfuckers look funny like white girls with fake tans
Face plant in the ground where I laid
And gaze upon the abyss of my grave

Jump back into the hole where I lay
And await resurrection
I await resurrection



Credits
Writer(s): Rishabh Sinha
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

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