I'm off my little face in this squalid shithole place
Pass the checkpoints in the race and go wash your dinnerplates
Step into the ring, you look like a middleweight
No time like the present to liberate and win the race
The way your feet shuffled, you was tilting sideways
The room's already moving, fucking up the vibe mate
The devil on my shoulder's getting pretty irate
And me and Milky Joe got a deal with Pieface
So why wait? I'm making angels in the snow
Thirty days of summer, feels strange a bit, I know
We'll sell the footage on, might make a little dough
And if that doesn't work, just fake it till it grows
I trip and drop tabs before I hop on the train
I'm sitting there spangled, I do not want the fame
And then a little fuse goes pop in my brain
Get yourself off at the next stop, he's deranged

I know it's all in my head
But it's got me thinking that I might be dead
Sing me a sad song, 'cause all of the bag's gone
Marx, you okay? You're not having a bad one?
I know it's all in my head
But it's got me thinking that I might be dead
Sing me a sad song, 'cause all of the bag's gone
Marx, you okay? You're not having a bad one?

Buy me Bonestorm, or go to Hell
I'm widely known, and I'm stoned as well
I'm lashing out, crashing out in my holding cell
My rap sheet so large, I'll obviously go to jail
Look, spell out my name: M-A-R-X
Made the kessel run and back in less than twelve parsecs
The kettle drum and track is what I might bar next
The ket hole's where I'm at, and we ain't gonna part yet
Look I understand what I'm saying's absurd
But when you're sat in the dark, not saying a word
When you should be in the studio laying a verse
And you don't believe in God but start to pray, I'm concerned
Truman Show trauma, mate its all fake now
Please make it stop, 'cause this shit is played out
I run down halls and bang on walls for the way out
But I can't hack it so I'll just blow my brains out

I know it's all in my head
But it's got me thinking that I might be dead
Sing me a sad song, 'cause all of the bag's gone
Marx, you okay? You're not having a bad one?
I know it's all in my head
But it's got me thinking that I might be dead
Sing me a sad song, 'cause all of the bag's gone
Marx, you okay? You're not having a bad one?