This is a song about "Duanee"

You spend days in your room to look perfect on the surface,

Penetratin' the game on its cervix is my service

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/

Dun giving a shit, beating the crap outta males in a fighter pit.

Now money is a service, but it's worthless, there's no purpose, shit,