I’ll give you my blood, I’ll give you my sweat, I’ll give you my tears.
You wash me away like a flood, Haven’t paid back your debt, Still you expect that we’re more than just peers.
But when mischief comes to my door and knocks, You sneak away like a slippery, sly fox, Look at me now, an empty tissue box.
You’ll go and make stash, Stuff it in your gash, Then throw me in the trash.
You make my life a mockery, Then expect me to stay at your dock, And not flee to the sea.
Be grateful for what you have before I leave, All that’s next is for you to grieve, This I believe. ~Bart Nativo