Intro)
I'll dig my way out..

(Verse)
Acid O' Acid, thou hast dispersed. It doused the masses.
The prowess inverted lip niches for infant powdered pagents;
Curdled ditch of sour patched kids, "trickle bound?" Summon flood flash;
Humming, "tongues a' drowning rugrats, half-defunct town's lung tapped."
Pound ya' glasses to classic ceremonial intake.
Yeah, south the hatch, it passes. Pheromone aroma wind breaks.
The twin snakes slither in mor; a sunny(Morrison) forked tongue scissor fling.
Lizard kings adore(a Door) the end: the throe of roaming limbs, wait.
Over-exposure to dopey concepts breeds a postal vengeance;
Breaching seedy coastal menace leaks a legion of leeches with sole incentives
So splendidly repping NB: Home of Exits; bleeding these folks of cultured ethics.
Open the heads, corrosive deadwits.
Oh God, help us; education guess, stupid is ghetto?
Fueling this putrid expo, puking up choo choo(chew) tracks to boost the metros.
Loose tooth tactics boom a hedrow; bush babies cue roused coffins.
Cutesy apes see, apes doo-doo: a tomb's Who's Who of cruising(Cruise and) Hoffmans.
So, let's commence a scatological roger to bloat commerce; 'Clogger rote to bottleneck.'
Congest this post-modern magnum opus.
Rabble coax a 'cloak and dagger' halitosis hoax;
just babble bogus swag in hopes this camel's broken back detracts the locusts
Who fluttered toward this toiled field to feed in steady rations,
'Til a hungry swarm had soiled zeal in sweeping vegetation.
Now, it wanders in the dust bowl, dead zone; brag of vultures.
Man, those crops were months old. Just, headstone the agriculture,
And adhere spear chucks with a leer, clear cut. Dear peers, pierce deer? Peer dear jeers jut.
Doe-eyed folk pine soul(sol) by sheer(shear) buck. Mere glut, sole rind, no grime, beer gut.
Hear hear, tear duct. Knuckle up a fierce hunt. Seer(sear) duck? What the fuck is up in here, tier: runt?
Weird, but this stumble was a 'tuck n' tumble' veering rut;
On the double, no, the triple, know your puzzle, steer in luck.[What?]
Bovine co-sign lyrics clutch,
Because dope rhymes don't try gearing up
To bang bass into slaughter. Lay waste to marauders
Revolving the quota overdrive from ear to ear
[Enough! Who's next?]
If proper gander(propaganda) gloats 'em G.O.A.T. to boost rep,
Call me the last kid to kick it out the Mother goose step, like..

(Outro)
Sometimes, I don't think I belong here, anymore. No, I don't belong here, anymore. (x3)