This is a song about "Rokko"

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

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

Dial up words but they're not in service

I'm the kind of kid whose main purpose is to shake earth's surface

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

Snap her adam's apple, have a laugh, and toss her off a bridge