February 27, 2003
GOD WON'T TAKE THE TIME TO SORT YOUR ASHES FROM MINE. You could measure Western states with my rap sheet. I've done unforgivable things. I'm an unforgivable man. I'm guilty, guilty, guilty. Ain't a lawyer under the sun that could set momma's brown-eyed boy free. I haven't even been caught for half the shit I did. But they're after me. They've been watching me since birth, or at least (this much I can prove) since before the first Gulf War. I'm guilty of something so massive in scope, I can't see it all at once. Can't give it a name.