Wutang is for the children

One eyed cyclops peered upon your flops.

As he walked by in flip flops. And a travesty it's not. Bought by sell outs and cops. The pearls fell by draq queens and butts. The bullets ricochet on their skin and hollow deep, and it is not, but you need an abortion and had your rations and portions. Chronically fatigued and superspeeds of tongues and flow; as I worship in my inner self and core.

It's hot, and through my fingertip. I take a pee and won my absolvement. My shit is not roses neither is yours. It stinks like shit so not a tasty morsel. Better leave it for more shit at your door from Amazon and ebay. And what you afford and adore. House coat from Cristian Dior. And tight, white, flimsy underwear. There's a brand new flavor in ya ear. Although yours is crusty from brown lacquers that bares the sight of what you see in mirrors. Death eating ain't for the children my dear. Only Wutang can educate the brats from anywhere. It educated me from yay high.

I smoked so much herb and prayed high.

Death eating ain't for anyone say bye.

Only Wutang can save the children....

Say Hi!

And as for that brown faux pas named scrounge faced Ayka. She feeds off lacquer 

and strikes a pose. A poser with no mental capacity of her very own. 

Death eating ain't for the children my dear. Only Wutang can educate the brats from anywhere. It educated me from yay high.

I smoked so much herb and prayed high.

Death eating ain't for anyone say bye.

Only Wutang can save the children....

Say Hi! Wutang for the kids. Wutang is for the children... yeah, Hi!