A cold day in hell, I feel good
At least I feel as good as real feels if real even feels good
I think back to being a kid and getting my ass kicked
And when I sold my soul to the devil to make me rap sick
Page from Cage's brain, angels dust off the ungodly
Riding through my childhood and hit my six year old body
Black-out for second, pick my head up off the street
Little kid hands my face - its not me in the driver seat
Father comes out screaming ("Holy Shit!") drops the cigarettes and lighter
Scoops me up with his left arm, his right fist snuffed the driver
Takes me in the house, stops the blood from wandering out
Is this a dream or time travel? I ponder on the couch
Walks in with a black bag, "Chris, we're gonna play a game, alright?"
Wrap my rubber snake around his arm and made me pull it tight
Hit himself with a spike, drew blood and pulled his mask down
My hands blue until he let my arm go and he passed out
"Ah...you know you're my little son, right?
I love you, you're my little son..."
Erratic then gone, I go from manic to calm
Watching the yellow liquid dripping back out of his arm
No automatic alarm sounded
Trying to wrap my six year old brain around it
Went in his pockets, took his money and couldn't count it
Went to the front door but its locked, observe it
Pulled up a chair to reach the dead bolt
But I'm too weak to turn it
Give it another try all the while still scoping him
Now I pan the room and see my escape in the open window
Scurry the floor
Climb out, hang, then drop into the snow
And my captor snatches me back up
"Chris, where you going?"
Pulls me back into hell
Starts shaking me, to weaken me
To teachin' me to be a man by repeatedly beating me
I hope I grow up before I'm finished being strangled
I black out then wake up tied to the coffee table
With a jump rope cable to my ankle so I can't run
He walks back in the room
"I need you help again, son"
"I'm gonna wrap this around my arm just like before
You pull the other end"
[Slaps his arm to get his veins ready]
"Pull it tighter, pull it tighter!
Alright, let go! Let go Chris!!
Uuuaaaghhhh...
You have to take care of your mother
This is an M16...I got this in the army
Private Murray...reporting...for...duty..."