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 the minds of the criminal element
Unless you include raff-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