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Baby Bird's Exit Wounds

from Four by tudors

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lyrics

Shoot a baby bird
in the neck
with a BB gun
to kill him so much faster
than when yelling
at his mother
within earshot
of his crib;
poisoning his pillows,
poisoning everything
he thought he knew
about Rockwell dreams.

Don’t you dare call him your fucking son
when you live in the back
of some side chick’s car,
hot-boxing like you don’t have a baby at home.

[He's not your bastard!]

Eggshells of a mockingbird
are crushed
beneath your feet,
and diamond rings
will rust onto another
woman’s hand.
So, if you blame the mother
for a shattered
looking glass,
don’t come back in 16 years
expecting open arms,
you piece of shit!

Don’t you dare call him your fucking son
when you live in the back
of some side chick’s car,
hot-boxing like you don’t have a baby at home.

[He's not your bastard!]


The nest you left
for him has sharpened
twigs that stick
his back like a fucking knife.

Don’t you dare compare our fucking scars [blood]
or calluses.
I'm not your blood
do not call this family [I'm not your fucking family]
Don’t you dare compare our fucking blood
ever again
ever again
ever again
ever again


And if you don’t like it,
fight me
you fucking prick.

credits

from Four, released September 7, 2018

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about

tudors Long Beach, California

P.O.C. fronted Noise Punk from the Los Angeles area. Always lower case the "t."

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