Cracked foundations leaking

It’s a fact that attracts rats

Mould grows, and that shit is whack

‘Cause, like, I need a space that’s calm, ethereal

And chilled for me to write

But we need the raw materials to build

And the right mixture of light fixtures

And extra-large windows of opportunity

Where those of our community come to pay a visit

You treat ‘em properly

While you break down the science on the property value

The building’s sick and dying with a first-class infection

If the health board people come, we’ll never pass inspection

The vinyl sides been neglected

Mouldin’ off, broken

Let me do the talking

‘Cause I’m tall and soft spoken, and Buck 65

Interior design should be simple and elegant

Superior to minds of the criminal element

Unless you include graff-writers

But still, guys are markin’ places for parkin’ spaces

Before the floor is reinforced

Not even to mention, boards are hammered in wrong

And with this tangle of extension cords

The next thing you know the roof will be on fire

Killed in the smoke and the flames

That engulf the entire buildin’

The carpenter soul that wants the ability

To stay, must first live up to the responsibility

Of keepin’ the premises safe from any nemesis or foreigner

That would only paint himself into a corner