Current century
Brings bad circulation
From your blood to your feet
And for your imagination
Scandal of your mind
Manifest itself
Your ears have fried
Your eyes have melted

With the paper signed
I can be dead

You kill yourself to work
They make your death worth
Some grams of paint
And some sad words
The cars on the streets
Brings black smoke
But I still use one
Known as a dope

With the paper signed
I can be dead

Fill your people with the fucking poor
Less you think you want more and more
The society walks towards the lie
I walk against this shit until I die