Hello again, Mister and Miss Policings, It’s me, Viktor, with some reminiscings. About the Astrahus you blew sky high, And the little orphans left asking why. See, I read the slides, I know the drill, You ask the Chief, or you sit real still. And even if you ask? The answer’s no— You shoulda known better, you shoulda known! Did you ask the Chief before you lit us up? Did you think about us before you played the dunce? Inside every Astrahus, there’s a place we stay, Now we got nothing ‘cause everything’s grey. Before, they fought, and that fight brought loot, Sometimes a cop in a W.H.P.D. suit Showed up with a crate that smelled real nice— Poorina Orphan Chow, to our delight! But now? No fights, no loot, no raids, No junk, no scraps, no ration trades. Nothing left but a cold, dead view, And a real bad taste of what you did do. Did you ask the Chief before you lit us up? Did you think about us before you played the dunce? Inside every Astrahus, there’s a place we stay, Now we got nothing ‘cause everything’s grey. (Snarky Spoken Word) Sike, we ditched that abandoned crack house. Fuck you, you bag of rocks You shoulda shot Apollo!
