• Written By: Kenny-Smith/Mackenzie/Walker/Funk

I'm the grim reaper.
Chimney sweeper.
Gate keeper.
Running faster than a cheetah preying on the weaker.
Got you in my point blank range as I take aim.
I'm coming at ya like a hurricane.
You're a scavenger scratching around for scraps.
Sipping on cactus.
Lighting matches.
Unburied hatchets.
Waiting for the ultimatum to be handed down from above.
Never moved a muscle.
Never gave a fuck.

If it's bad for business and the visits from the hellhounds sniffing out stitches for the snitches.
Then there's gotta be more than justice in discussion for the ones causing the corruption.
Are you having an existential crisis.
Time is priceless.
Can't advise us.
Analyse it.
Break it down into small increments to repent.

Rotting flesh odorous.
The grim reaper cashes the cheque.
Rotting flesh odorous.
The grim reaper cashes the cheque.

Heaven sent the silhouette of many wicked men.
Fearless.
Reckoning thinking they're the most powerful they've ever been.
I can't begin to comprehend the arrogance dwindling inside the cranium.
Grotesquely tortured by the wretchedness.
Whiplash in the fortress between ya legs.
Body bags hanging on the hills hoist with a peg as the stench orbits the homestead.

Rotting flesh odorous.
The grim reaper cashes the cheque.
Rotting flesh odorous.
The grim reaper cashes the cheque.
Rotting flesh odorous.
The grim reaper cashes the cheque.
Rotting flesh odorous.
The grim reaper came to collect his debt.