Waiting in my grave
All the time that I wasted
Consumed by the hate
Emotions flow like waves
Walls of my room are straits
Stucked on my own hell that I created

There's meat stucked to my drills
Legs hurt and my skin peels
I can't forget the fucking deal
Knife made of steel
I'm done with shit mane
Done with shit mane

Young rose records
Team in Paris, where it’s
Stop staring, we are wearing gold
Keep my fucking letter
Fella rotten in the weather
Till she say how?
Without a call, she said
Looking at my face now

You are a crazy bitch
I'm here to fill my bank account
Who is wasted now?
Take a rose
Of the garden of the bones
Coming from the south
More loud
Coming from the south