Dog

Get medicated. 

Now you’ve been sedated. 

Now you’re hella faded. 

And you’ve been persuaded. 

To let Dog out. 

No more God now. 

Not the god you’re thinking of. 

Not the dog you’re thinking of. 

It’s an oxymoron for the morons. 

Based on Fallout, not my own output. 

It correlates and coordinates with my own debates. 

Artistic and lyrical. 

It must’ve been a miracle. 

Life’s hysterical. 

Yet I play it cool. 

Royal Blood is what I feed off of. 

Not real blood, it’s not an offset. 

When I’m off set, I do nothing but lose myself. 

Now I say “if the drugs don’t help…”

Get the alcohol. 

Now we got it all.
Not the best, but it was inspired by Royal Blood’s song “figure it out.”

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