Love in this muthafucka..I ain't no vegan...I'm bout to roast this pig....Love.. YO LOST TO GOD, more like LOST TO GODDAM CARBS, you forty year old ginjer trick with that rosacea ravaged face lookin' like a god dam stoplight, your cheeks a permanent shade of I just ran a marathon to the fridge, that ain't a beard, that's a sad attempt to hide the embarrassment of your own existence, you a boot lickin cucc for the system, a certified fat in-cell who couldn't find his own dicc with a search party and a flashlight, let alone find a pus-see, so you sit in your reinforced La-Z-Boy, a throne built for a king-sized failure, makin YouTube react videos cause the real world rejected your massive ass, you live in a digital fantasy of Bitcoin and anime lore cause your physical reality is a horror show, you tell ME I'm misinformed? Motherfuka, you can't even find your own aszhole to wipe it proper, that's why you got permanent shit stains in your drawers, a constant reminder of your filth and incompetence, your spank bank's a digital graveyard of anime characters, LatinLogic's 8-bit ass, and Starlight's filtered titties, cause no real woman would touch your pasty, fat ass with a ten-foot pole, you couldn't get no pus-see so you turned to Twinkies, lookin' like Jabba the Hutt but your avatar's He-Man, the ultimate disconnect, you ain't lost to God, you're lost to the Hostess aisle, lost to carbs, lost to diabetes, lost to the basic concept of personal hygiene, you love food more than life itself, that's why you're breathin heavy just thinkinbout your next meal, then you got the audacity to say I'm misinformed while you shovel "diet" everything into your bottomless gut, just gettin' fatter, a textbook case of cognitive dissonance wrapped in a layer of blubber so thick it absorbs sound, I'd roast this gluttonous swine but I'd need a fuckin industrial crane and a pit the size of your gravitational pull, you're not just lost to God, you're a casualty of your own appetite, a walking, talking, breathing cautionary tale, a ginjer-haired monument to failure, a fat, pathetic cucc whose only contribution to the world is the seismic activity from shifting in your chair to grab another fistful of Doritos, you ain't a rapper, you're a RAPPER-WRAPPER, a human-sized burrito filled with nothing but regret and trans fats, so go ahead, make another song about how I'm wrong, while you wheeze and struggle for breath, I'll be here, actually living, while you're slowly dying, one bite at a time, lost to the buffet, lost to yourself, you fat, pathetic, nobody.
