This is a song about "The oppression of penguins"

In the face of the outside.

If it's me that catch you, you're fried

New racist, too vacant, mutations, natural selection

I`m a mania tic weapon, running away from this oppression

They get one season poppin', at least he's being honest

The disease of the wordsmith hidden inside of the mist

Of the coke and the smoke of weed

Sometimes i think, what i need

For the man of the hour

Ay yo you wonder who i are

I guess i left my dignity up in the cupboard, cause every girl i'm digging

Illegitimate spittin' shit equivalent to penguins in a building,

Beat of the drum soon the rhythm of the dead.

Dutty wine for access, show me your neck

Enough oppression, leading to depression

The world should turn as soon as my records spin