BILL GATE'S BUKAKE

Quiet time for this lion heart, no time or crime for crack today, just going to concentrate on word play, my broken soul's indomitable and honest-to-a-fault art

I don't like to talk about committing acts of violence but sometimes one has to break the silence, and stabbing someone is the best way to get the point across

If people think I'm demented and my ways are wicked, then they are free to burn bridges just like Mel did, it's their fucking loss, her hypocrisy made me so cross

My words are not for showing people how clever I am, forever I shall write, for it's good for soothing my aching heart and is a form of catharsis

Your turds, I shall collect one day perhaps, stir it up mixed with foul eggs in a bucket between my lap, then I will return to sender, oh such an indignant Marxist

For you shit out all the excess cadavers that you consume, rotting flesh makes me want to puke, some poor animal died so you could indulge your gluttony

And I spit bile in the face of your self-indulgence and greed, your affluence far exceeds that which is not obscene, I hope you choke on Bill Gate's bukake, that'll make you see

For all your sacrifice, consumerism and conformity, tell me what have your achieved? You were led to believe that greed is ok like the days Wall Street's money fucking gangsters could make the decision to kill a million babies

Well, let me tell you something: money is the enemy, and to repeat another dead cliche - it is the root of all evils, the lure of the devil, I hope all you consumer whores contract AIDS or rabies

And die!