haba haba
You're moving like a snail on a Monday. Each step is a battle, and the genocide is just the punchline.
Haba haba, I’m not walking. I’m just dragging my soul to the slaughterhouse.
Haba haba, I’m not escaping. I’m just inching toward my death like it’s a slow dance.
Haba haba, I’m not running. I’m just taking my time to get killed.