Here comes another masterpiece from the outer lands of Greece/
sittin in my kitchen, watchin p rise in the pots and pans like yeast/
all you see is powder, ash, and grease, police come, I'ma grab my piece/
so solemn cuz the sour sands have ceased in the hour glass of peace/
we wage war til we in the fed, dark days been cold as Winnipeg/
Jack and Jill, it all went downhill when Milt caught one in the leg/
now he in the pen, my close friend, sixty-three seems like no end/
got no ends for his books, it's the thirty-first and it looks like no rent/
so it's back to packin sacks so cheap, feels like I'm givin em out/
start wholesale at a motel, now fiends follow me like a Twitter account/
this the simplest route besides pullin pistols out in a simpleton's house/
Sixx will sell you suckas anything but soul, stupid, this isn't Faust...
Image is everything except the truth.