Update, Bigfoot, right here in the city.

"I'm the problem"

It rains, it snows
It gets fucking cold, frost biting your toes
When will it stop, helping your heart freeze
Not so much weather, a storm inside your soul

Rip at yourself, rip at everyone else
Claw your own skin, scream; fucking shout
You can’t be him, nor can you be yourself
Can’t have his life, can’t have his wealth

Been like Frankie, over and out
Way past Elvis, fat bloated and strung out

Come to think of it
I’d rather be Johnny Cash
Thunderous tones
All dressed in black

To stand for something real
Not so incredibly whack

You’d like to be a homie
The Jeffersons turn you on
You fancy yourself a churchie
The bible won’t do you wrong

You don’t drugs
Just make sure to hide your bong
You’ve been saved though right?
So proud, hell, break into song
Hallellujah brother, Jesus saves!
Meanwhile the liar
You’re digging a grave