Bottles - Rick Whispers, Mac Lethal

I should’ve listened to the gall and the opinions of y’all

Cause listen, y’all is just a bunch of bricks in the wall

Holding up my imaginary palace

A pinch of salt to the open cuts and I’m deficient with flaws

I’m like a winter time grizzly bear

Itchin' for a fish or a puppy makin' prints with his paw

Or a hungry baby kitten with claws

Scratching up the couch wishin' you’d call

Stacking up the clouds in a sense just to

Climb myself to Abraham’s bosom

I blossom like a fire colored rose from the grey but it’s crooked

I came and I took it away from the wooden faces to paint it I shouldn’t

I should’ve shaken seven shades of Heaven’s grays

Before they replicate the Section 8's in twos

Giving money to collection plates, confused

And then I… and I realize it tastes like tangerine skin

Hands on the clock couldn’t hammer me in

Pick a side, suicide, homicide

Punch deep through your dragon shield

Fornicate with your fate and we split a wagon wheel

So listen to the rhythm when the trouble comes

Slither like a minister, imprison the cumbersome

I know that’s simply condescending

I’m Prozack sniffling, gender and genre bending

And that’s how the bullshit burns

Sittin' on the corner and I feel like I’m nothing but a germ

I gotta get a bottle of the fire my friend

I gotta bet a bottle of the fire my friend