Weirdo

[Verse 1]
Amalgamation of similes and metaphors birthed my music
I can feel the ethereal spirits when I produce it
But I never explain my inspirations behind my creations
[?] in the basement, I mean the attic
In that small room, I publish EPs without aid
I battle kids and perform freestyles without pay
Back in the days, my Asperger’s syndrome molded my speech and drove people away from reach
To elaborate or associate with
And my life reeks of awkward encounters with those beasts
And so the story goes
And so the story goеs
My spit a simple sentencе, no
[?] organisms but first, end it, no
Before [?] name was even mentioned, no
Before I formed my opponents to make their cerebellums grow
Is my reign ending? No
So listen to my story now presented without prose

[Hook]
Screwed in the head
I don’t exist
Screwed in the head
And so are you
Screwed in the head
I’m in your head
Screwed in the head
You’re losing it
Screwed in the head
And so am I
Screwed in the head
And as for you
Screwed in the head
[?]
Screwed in the head
We’re both losing it

[Verse 2]
I’m considered a cancer with my candor when I’m back home
Yes, I’ll leave you looking like Icarus’s backbone
The etymology of my name reveals my powers now
But long ago I would try spitting but dribble and stop so slow
Anyone who kicks me leaves me head caved in and sutured
You’re walking by, you’re yelling evasive maneuvers
Face it, loser, you’re insignificant amoeba spawn
You better preach the [?] ‘fore you get beaten on
Look at me, I’m not normal
My ego could fit in the stomachs of all vagabonds
Of my confidence fits in my pocket armed with a sarcasm rocket
I become a bad sport now
So watch my possessions, I’m gonna bomb the local whorehouse

[Hook]
Screwed in the head
I don’t exist
Screwed in the head
And so are you
Screwed in the head
I’m in your head
Screwed in the head
You’re losing it
Screwed in the head
And so am I
Screwed in the head
And as for you
Screwed in the head
[?]
Screwed in the head
We’re both losing it

[Verse 3]
To be or not to be
When in doubt, choose, see
‘cause we are gods ourselves
There’s no room in hell
I wonder if [?] can actually tell
Maybe it’s mute, maybe it gives us the cold shoulder
I get wiser everyday that I get older
Oh, I am so pretentious, you would agree
My poetry, it body anybody up on the [?]
But I digress, paying my [?]
Grew safe and return
On we press
Me and the other self righteous emcees
Dying or raping Midi-chlorians, keep [?] it
Stuck in the podium
Living in a [?] ‘gesting the opium
Too many factoids pissed to tell me I’m [?]
I dream a cult, a new Babylon sickening