Tells the tale of a young boy's unfortunate death after a tragic football accident, his mother's horrified reaction leading to her suicide, and the coach who was responsible for the boy's death suffering a stroke. Death comes in 3's.
lyrics
A young boy is fussin
On the ground after rushin
And suffered a concussion
And he began touchin
His head blood was gushin
Went to the coach who said it was nothin
Stop being such a fuckin
Pussy and get back in the game
Despite not being able to say his name
Or stay in a lane
He was lost in his brain
So as he gained
Back his mind frame
His coach was already yelling what a dame
This is just a lame
Excuse I'm about to blow a fuse
If you make us fucking lose
Hear me in there you little jew
We're running twos
because of yous
Now get out there, fucking Move!
So the little dude
Made his way back Out
after a 3 count black out
So now he tracked
His way back
Heard the play but couldn't remember that
So he sat
In his position
Waiting to play victim
As the quarterback tapped
The center on the back
And took the snap
But the lack
Of process ability
His mind was blown like Kennedy
So he got clobbered by the enemy
Ending the defending plea
As he fell to the ground
Next thing he heard was the sound
Of nurses and doctors around
Broken brains go insane (3x)
Makin flames n takin names
Only twelve years old
With dry tears cold
On his cheeks
His eyes crunched with sleep
As they opened to take a peak
And he seeked for his feet
He still felt weak and beat
A cold feeling in his teeth
When he tried to speak
And nothing came out his beak
Just saliva would leak
And the doc meandered in sorta discreet
With his hair done sleek
And he would tweak
His mouth around
in order to make sound
but found
no words would meet
His ear just a fleet
Of nonsense in a bleak
Obscure feat
That sounded like greek
Everything moved slow like he was stoned
But this bed soon became his new home
And these the only people that he'd known
Cuz no longer could he operate a telephone
He'd let out extra moans
Every so often
Until he's in the closed coffin
Occasionally slow coughin
But from here there was no option
Other than to pull the plug
It was better than pumping him with a slug
So with a sigh and a tug
His mother lost her one love
And there would never be a sub
So she slit her wrists in the tub
Broken brains Go insane (3x)
Makin flames n takin names
The coach felt no remorse
For being the source
Of this homicide-suicide
the crop that fight, do or die
He knew it right
To win at all costs
Despite all lost
Cuz he was the boss
And some kids get tossed
To the side
If they just slide
Along for the ride
And try and glide
with the team's pride
While they don't abide
And get fried
When they step off the side
Lines and now one died
And they expect I
To be petrified
For my job
They can just slob my knob
If they try and rob
My fame in the name of god
I don't care if y'all sob
Or even mob
With a horde of snob
Soccer moms with bobs
Flibbity flob
I am the gobb
Stob drob and glob
There he dropped dead with a stroke
In front of all the folk
Who saw his life as a joke
Defenders of the kid who he yoked
The life away from
How did he stay numb
And say some
Bullshit about understanding where he came from
And now his name's done
As his fame comes
To a not so tragic end
And it felt like magic when
His stagnant skin
Became completely cold
And now his soul was sold
credits
from Quatrains,
released May 12, 2017
Prod. PT Beats