This is a song about "The 1800s"

Here's the answer and the antidote:

Ain't nothin funny, fuck a joke

So call the coroner or the mortician for the the

Aroma, strong enough to bring ‘em outta coma

In the field of the damned, the only sentries are the crows.

Sorta like drano...you know how the game goes

Still the man with the pan

You gotta let these shits go, man

Where the fuck the chorus

They getting deals with thier weak buzz

Endless the days, forever the nights,

I ain't hating on you, rock them shines

I got a penny in my pocket, million in the trunk

The water from the past is the same water in the present

Gotta go, let her leave

Thinkin of the the dreams