I’m 40, been down since ’97. I’m a lonely juggalo. Nowhere I go are there any fam. No lettes. No chance of paintin’ my face up and lettin’ my nuts hang makes ppl want me on a chain gang. I’m so creative. I have everything inside. Except I have no place to hide or ride on the outside. So tired most of the time. It’s like being smart and kind is a crime. All my old friends died. Moved away, committed suicide. I thank god I’m alive, walkin that line in the divide. Not sorry if it rhymes. There’s no place for me, no way for me, no pay for me. Not bitchin’ about pain or goin insane, don’t need restraints, or a government plantation. Don’t need no more reflection, or patronizing acception. Don’t need a ressurection. Or a shot for some bogus infection. Maybe some respect or dedication, but can’t go askin for recognition, creating indecision upon my vision. Could somebody listen? Doesn’t somebody else know? And by somebody I mean a juggalette with big fat titties and a decent waist, pretty face to make me her king like Harley Race and everything’s straight. No hate, no rat race. My own place