Fuck With the Squad I Send You Back to God – Big Bruiser Dope Boy

I know how much you say you love him

But this ain’t what you want punk

Keep talking the bull Jehovah jive to prop yourself up 

You say you don’t but you just use it for yourself

You’re not helping anybody heal or know what’s real

You’re on a trend, not the mend

You don’t care, you just care about caring

You’re nice, but you ain’t kind for shit

That’s why you squirm where you sit


God knows you’re a bitch

He knows what you’ve done lad

Your public striving only tears your heart further from his secret visions of life

Only yours

Only life

Atheists are more religious than you, which is why you have career alliances with each other

Your religion is vanity, not Christianity

Your values are your fingernails and your politics are your clothing

You go to church to meet friends with benefits

Then do drugs and fuck yourselves away from your bodies in secular satanic temple apartments

If you don’t like social media, get off social media

Get all up inside God’s Wikipedia

You wear camouflage hats ironically, which ironically does the opposite of camouflage 

You’re a hi-vis, highfalutin, highlighter yellow coward, and you look hideous because you are 

You are ugly because you are ugly

Fuck with the unit get exposed you’re a eunuch

You have no vitality, a whimpering formality

You don’t even have the courage to be afraid

If I gave your nipples a tweak you’d turn to dust in the beam of God’s free energy weapon

You use the Bible to masturbate your ego in really bad, self-serving poetry

Next time you pray, make sure it’s while you’re getting a haircut 

You need to honor God

You’re probably hungover right now

You shake when you read

Project your voice, son!

I talked to your dad, he’s disappointed in you and you annoy him

You insult him with your superficial relationship to tradition and gutlessness to invent new ones

Every day you patent a new sin

You’d think you really were a martyr, how you compensate for your lack of victimhood with bitterness

You will meet the devil himself in your dreams tonight, a state-sponsored hologram

You won’t be able to forget this time

He will be a tall man drifting in a pool with you, facing away

You will try to turn him around to see his face but he’ll keep drifting and turning away from you

You will finally get close enough to clutch his shoulders 

But before you can finally turn him around to see his unspeakably handsome malevolence, across his back you will see wounds deeper than seem possible, either as if made by horrible slices, or split from something horrible within

And they will be in the shapes of crosses

And you will fall into and get lost in their dark, endless depths

And you will wake up

And that’s who you will be for the rest of your life

This knowledge is your crown of thorns