I am a Lowlife
Home ain't home.
Not for me.
Not for my wife or dog,
or daughter Lucy.
The bed is rented.
The TV is broken.
Dog poop everywhere,
in the hall a crackhead is smokin'
This ain't home.
It's where I sleep.
I made my bed
I'm just another creep
She is a Lowlife
She thought I was lying-
and I was.
She thought I was dying-
and I was.
She did nothing for me-
as she smiled
She could of saved me-
that's not her style.
Lowlife Mantra
I don't have a racist bone in my body
But I may have a few racist hairs
I say this all the time on the bus
To my surprise, nobody really cares
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