Incoming - Jam Baxter

Hold tight the hangers,

wet cement swimmers front crawlin through their manors,

eye-stabbers neck-wringers skin-picking scammers,

I watched them all sliding ladders

from the sky meet your suicidal gooey-eyed attackers,

the little wet brain splatters on the sheets,

from the shoot-outs that reached between your ears as you sleep,

got you shook,

I love it when shit gets obese so you can slash a hole and let the fat trickle

through the streets.