I stand here, mixing and scratching Before me, a mic; with turn tables matching Belts from buckles unlatching Whoopings being set in the distance with spectator's laughing Hurt? Pain is a fun fest for the sick Disrupted wit will cause you to vomit and spit Your soul it'll rip Seeing diginity blown away like a leaf on a trip. The tree's fall and bust up the ground Unbearable sound; ear drums burst with the shots from downtown Bodies thrown around Like death with the screams being drowned down. Pain? Is that a feel or a question? Like a willful indigestion // More or less suspension I'd rather break free than watch tormented beings be lessened And lives destroyed with families mended Ruptured minds with thoughts of blood Staind from the toes north, with mind's made up They're crushed. Burnt to a crisp with a silver dying touch The devil around them just snapped their thousand foot crutch.