Marcus Walton - CLOCKING Don Garner Hard in the Temple with my Combination Lock at Buena Vista Middle

I crash the metal into your big forehead
You faint as dead, you fall among the Philistines
All appalled
You burn an offering to reconcile
I find it vile, it burns my nostrils
I am pressed down by my only, only crown
You were twelve years old and terrified
Of getting circumcised, Curtains of Gold
It's kind of funny the stakes being so high
Too great to heavy to get behind
We bore the ire of seven sets of eyes
Love's paid gaze, administrators crushed us
Between their caring thighs
They ferried us across a lake of fire, our own desires
They bade us all to close our eyes, we couldn't
Feel the heat they swore was there keeping us all afloat
I was twelve years old and terrified
Of lifting my eyes from the Blacktop of Gold
Upon the solid rock I strove to stand
But I fell buried in the Sands of Love
Oh Mrs. Greenlee, what did you hate in me?
What did I hate in you?
What does love even look like? Can you try
To sketch it? Pass me the paper under the table
Oh Don Garner, how we courted dishonor
God six grade was a slaughter
We were lambs led, we were led lambs
God six grade was a slaughter
God six grade was a slaughter

Written by:
Marcus Walton

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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