TRACK FIFTEEN
FROZEN NUMB [Prod. Chemo]

Head of snakes,
He was fed into a shredder, flakes spreading into webbing for the legend in a petal shape,
He was led into forever through the metal gate, headed through a feather that was tethered to a leathered ape,
He would enter as a member of the treasured eight, beggars that were wedded to the cheddar that they never make,
He was levered into pleasure as their head of state, detonates the weather then endeavours to dissever fate,
It would pepper his successors through the tremor shakes, metal flakes settling as letters but for heaven’s sake,
He would fetter as a leper that would never wake, beckoning the nectar of togetherness in meta states

He’s a monster jockey that got lost in offies,
Stocky, he’s not Rocky, he’s a toff that copies sophistry from Costa coffee,
He had prospered as a softy in a fostered copy,
Sloppy with his coffers, he was glossy in a frosty posse,
He had lost me when he offered up his soggy toffee,
Groggy but he’s snobby, he was coughing up a shoddy hobby
His wads are soggy from the molly and the bossy bobby,
Sloppy with his posse, he’s a body in a snotty lobby

Jump to the moon,
A tune pumped in the room as he swooned from the lumps he consumed,
Bumps in the spoon to be dumped in the clumps of his doom, he’s as pumped as the chumps that were strewn,
Months of this goon on the hunt for the stumps of his gloom, but this punt was affront to the blues,
Blunt in the news that the brunt of his wonder would ooze out the front in a hunger for booze,
Stunts would consume him in blunders that plundered his fuse, he was once like a monk in his pews,
Runt, he was loose with his screws dumped, slumped with his shoes, he’s a lump from the thump of the news

Frozen numb,
He spoke the omens til the rope was done, chosen one, he’s the hopeless spokesman of a smoking gun,
He was rolling up the potent with the local scum, swollen thumb stroking to reopen and expose the sun,

Frozen numb,
He spoke the omens til the rope was done, chosen one, he’s the hopeless spokesman of a smoking gun,
He was rolling up the potent with the local scum, swollen thumb stroking to reopen and expose the sun,

A game of chess,
He would fade until the blazed the cess, may supress faces that ingrained upon this famous chef,
He would stay bereft, pacing in attainment’s mess, may confess he was wasting paper on an ancient guess,
It was blatant, yes, hatred was his way to stress, sacred quest for the vacant statements that he laid to rest,
But his wait was less, hazy in his basement dress, shaven chest, he displayed amazement as the nation’s best,
But as the weight was pressed, sadists would be made to test their latest entertainment on his ailing and derailing stress,
He was racing west, taking his replacement’s zest and faking disengagement from his hatred in a blatant mess

Wooden flask,
He’s the bullet in the looking glass, cooking brass pudding, know it’s crooked but you shouldn’t ask,
He was shook at them but goodness, it was looking sparse, woman with a hoodlum she was shushing in a woollen mask,
But his pussyfooting wouldn’t cheat the jooking fast, hooked in like a good’un to the cushion in a wooden cask
It was pushed into the soot and then was put in grass, looking like it should’ve, it was footed by his bookish past

Fallen war,
He’s more an organ of a cautious lore sprawling in his fraudulence, the raucousness of Ford Accords,
He’s a fortress in his shortening, this portion’s gore, quartering his boredom with his Jordan on his gormless jaw,
He was gorging on the hornless as he stormed ashore, crawling to the chorus while he’s forfeiting his nauseous awe,
It was gorgeous in its formlessness, the flawless thaw of portraitists of portions of his lawlessness and cautious gore

Frozen numb,
He spoke the omens til the rope was done, chosen one, he’s the hopeless spokesman of a smoking gun,
He was rolling up the potent with the local scum, swollen thumb stroking to reopen and expose the sun

Frozen numb,
He spoke the omens til the rope was done, chosen one, he’s the hopeless spokesman of a smoking gun,
He was rolling up the potent with the local scum, swollen thumb stroking to reopen and expose the sun

Frozen numb,
He spoke the omens til the rope was done, chosen one, he’s the hopeless spokesman of a smoking gun,
He was rolling up the potent with the local scum, swollen thumb stroking to reopen and expose the sun

Frozen numb,
He spoke the omens til the rope was done, chosen one, he’s the hopeless spokesman of a smoking gun,
He was rolling up the potent with the local scum, swollen thumb stroking to reopen and expose the sun