Regurgitation of animalistic rage
bleated beats of the broken cage
G.O.A.T's goaded to monetary fame
old MacDonald had a farm, full of pain.
The greatest are the voices in the dark
the calm in the storm, not the smart witted remarks
nor are they minors mining for gold just to fill their carts
their the unmarked hallmarks, silently fighting for a fresh peaceful start
they deserve better then ill spilled bars pushing up charts
old MacDonald had a farm, to which they played no part.