I was underneath you, I was like a whelp,
That forgets the things at all trying to inhale,
Now I"ve decided not to pray for help,
Now I"ve decided rightly go to hell.

And you can for sure trample on mine songs, 
Cutting into micro-licks every word from them,
Though I became half-dead drinking with the sots
 But still I remember whom adores my stem...