This is a song about "Codyy"

At a funeral service lurking and snatching purses

Lines naturally come out of my mind,and end up looking like bad cursive.

Service the discursive lurkers in the furthest mergers of a scary circus,

Bastard, hap hazardous track master, put a beat on and words become lavishly crass daggers/

You might collapse and take a nap for all of eternity

Secret service insurgents observe me nervously