Your fault? No it's not.

I guess my retarded opinions are not deep.
And yea straying from the flock I'm a black sheep.
So when I cry you can laugh with smoke filled deceit.
And my soul will burn in hell under your feet.
I guess I was not as pure as St. Pete.

I bet you nark for 5 cent's of weed.
The police would bust in and claim I sell speed.
What will justice punish for my deed.
A craving for a drug an uncontrollable need.
from under the earth it rises up and grows by seed.
Distribution will continue addiction it will feed
The money will go to satisfy a dealers greed.

I hate Rhymes.
They'er stupit lymerics.