Mug with an Egyptian scene, gold writing, for imbibing lean
Got gold pythons on my feet
Got those old Nikes, 80 through 93
Oversized black DCs
Like I’m off out back practicing nosegrinds and ollies
On the grind, nose to the grindstone, got the stoner shit for grinders
And shit that’ll grind your nose down
Have so much loud and Irish pounds have to keep one in hiding
Rather die fighting, knowing it’s there by my side even if there are sirens,
Than get plugged wishing I’d been more paranoid
Born alone, most won’t so don’t back your boys when trouble shows
Turn tail and turncloak, no honour amongst thieves, no codes
Go broke so going back home, back to Thebes
Stoned like the hands of Moses after fleeing Egypt
No jip from an eejit who couldn’t even compete in PE.
Alchemisland 
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