Slaughterhouse

The night was ripe and I was pickin' grapes off it,
 Taken off at like midnight, then I'd say softly
 That it wouldn't be met with what normally bested
 Me, which be whiskey and weed but indeed
 It did, and I was gone like a cough to a lozenger
 Walked up in a house to 'em all doin' dollar hits (of coke)
 While talking cognitive, rhetoric like philosopher's
 About death, life, love, just pondering
 Solvin' themselves these shells of truth
 That they'll lose once their high's through,
 And I guess that defines youth,
 Then there's poets praying for plagues or bombs
 So they'll have something more to write in essays or songs
 Cause they're bored of war and can't do shit about politics
 So get real fuckin' drunk and then imagine they can abolish it
 But then they'll get old, and have some kids of their own
 Then those kids will say the same shit 'till their old
 And it repeats over and over,
 And watch the news - they're still
 Saying that the world's fucked and they've got it on film
 Like, Yeah, kill, kill, kill, shit, did everybody die?
 Double that, we need ratings, call it, umm, a genocide!
 Then after a 2-hundred thousand dollar commercial,
 We're shown kids blown to bits
 In a country we've never heard of
 Then some have the nerve to comment like they know shit
 Sayin, "Oh, that's God punishing the heathens' indulgence"
 And they believe it, because passion with a good voice
 Passes as fact to like half of those who hear the noise
 So bon voyage and whatnot or whatever,
 I'll sever ties with my senses forever
 I'm so exisistential, and selfishly bitter,
 Like, look, take my rights but
 Leave me my liquor (Leave us our liquor!)
 Then I see all these women wearing make up for the sake of
 Perfecting the face that appears when they wake up
 And I wonder what it'd be like to live as a girl
 Where your face isn't good enough to show to the world
 It's odd, a woman's life is a fashion show
 And a guy's not a guy unless he's smashing those
 And they say, we're all free in most ways
 But what most don't calculate
 Is that we're slaves mostly to culture
 Giving ulcers to a kid who likes pink,
 Cause when Daddy calls him faggot, he likes blue to be abiding,
 Or a girl who was lonely, and was forced to pretend
 But then blew a bunch of dudes and had a room full of friends
 Then we're all Che 'til our youth runs out
 A bunch of Bolsheviks, that conform somehow
 I see kids pushin' world peace out their mouths
 And to them I say, no, the world's a fuckin' slaughterhouse
 We're all living on stolen roads
 A peace sign's just fashionable
 So I'll be sitting here
 See you when you save the world
 Or when you wake up and you save yourself