They say old junkies never die, we go to prison and keep getting high.
Stuck in my head, a cold and lonely place
I stair in the mirror at the wrinkles on my face.
Twenty set of 25, 56 and still getting it in. Showing these kids how to live in the pen.
It’s a cold ass day when you face reality, your past a mere technicality.
F**k what your going through, F**k how you feel, trying dying, and that shits real.
