Machina. System's automatic.
Saddened by our artificial times, y'all can have it
I want natural taste, spontaneity and waste
Manual aim - lesser killing machines - more of a game
Honor! Bet they don't feel that in their bronze coils
It makes me boil like a toyless little boy
In Boyle Heights. I'm no slack jaw but on point
And I wont wane with these times, I'll take ointments
Anoint me! King of the joint creed!
Weak knees for days, weak backs, all weak me
I feel it weekly! But I won't give I'll keep free
Titanium is not my game it's Arnica and Tea Tree