I bet your bedrooms full of wack crap you fat fuck,
mat miller posters, chap sticks and packed lunch,
beeps when you back up, weeps when I rap up
plastic wrap your mattress for wet beds you wack cunt/

Called beyond blue, they told him to "harden the fuck up, faggot!"
Took it the wrong way; now he jacks off on the phone at it,
He's not your average, average junkie creep.
SIKE. Yeah, right. I guess you are what you eat./

He creeps down the hall, off it on heroin,
Dick this small: l-----1-----2-----3l since he was offered the heroin
asking for trolley money, needs it for buss fair
tryna find his way. Slit your wrists.
V V V V--- YO, THEY'RE JUST THERE ---V V V V

Petty crim, steals air. No balls (they're not there)
burden with depression. Guess what? We don't care.
An when you jump, not a damn soul will miss you,
so get the fuck out, cos straight up, we all wish you...////

I bet your fucking piss flaps are miss matched, you 'odd' cunt.
Talkin' Valiums, god knows we both on some./
You look like Magda Szubanski. But fatter. With a fucked face.
Jabba the Hut, three arms, but one leg mate./

If I'm Mr Larson, you're like mr garrison.
Feminine, hand up the passage of a middle man./
Tassie tigers, got a full shed, like they battery hens,
milk them every day. And if they're dry-then I'm cappin' them/