It's beautiful besides the people and the concrete. They're on my concrete. They built it. They don't give me enough money to keep me happy. Not enough. If they give me money I love them. But if they don't I still love them.
You know it's America. You get McDonald's and fat people. And then at night they roam. Around the track. Once the light hits you know all the skinny yups starting running for no reason. I mean they're already in shape, they're already good looking, but they're stressing themselves out. Killing themselves to run through humid ass shit. Fucking concrete jungle here. I drink everyday and I got a better fucking figure then they'll ever fucking have.
Eventually I'm gonna sleep. Then the same thing. I might go explore the beach if I can find sand around here. But they covered everything with concrete and steel so you know it's gonna be a long and hard search. But you know we might have to go to Long Island and find the crackhead beach spot.