This is a song about "Late 1800s medical practices"

Let em marinate, you forever late

At an extremly alarming rate

The proverbial lemonade that i made

Do not delay the time is late,

And a nose full of chowder, he's choppin' up all the doubters see

Im sick for medical the ill mind is approved for me

Practices so inhumane, if i become president, vote for me,

Fuck you bunch is here, never disrespect my family

Those are not my dreams, i'll be straight

No never but rather late/

Medical professionals

We race foreign cars, custom models

I hope i'm not to late

Pitchfork doesn't need a plate

Love my women with high heels and high standards

And use it all to get high on the medical herbs