| News Reporter: Are you referring to Diabolik?
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| Minister of Interior: Diabolik? |
| I assure you that this individual,
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| whose very name reveals his antagonism to the established values of our
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| society, will soon be brought to justice
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| Middle fingers up, y’all. |
| Let’s go. |
| Come on!
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| I’m an animal caged, paid dues, no annual raise
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| I channel my rage, attacking on a national stage
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| Fighting 'til my knuckles cracked, pushed back, and displayed
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| Coming through the skin like Wolverine’s retractable blades
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| I’m a cannibal, caveman that escaped
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| To paint pictures with my words, spray cans on my waist
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| You better recognize like the city’s cameras in place
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| With software to identify by scanning your face
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| Now examine the traits of a mythological beast
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| A monster unleashed like those Greek gods on the beach
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| Released the Kraken, attacking Metropolitan streets
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| Demolishing beats while you’re busy following Tweets
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| A Diabolical, freak genius secretly stands
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| I’m on a different wavelength, got your frequencies jammed
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| Strategically planned, ‘cause the streets that we ran
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| Exorcise demons, bringing out the beast in each man
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| Screaming:
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| «Fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool» (Nah, «fuck you"'s my attitude!)
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| «Fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool» (Nah, «fuck you"'s my attitude!)
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| «Fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool» (Nah, «fuck you"'s my attitude!)
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| «Fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool» (Hahahaha!)
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| I’ll take a shot of tequila, and pop’s prodigal son
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| Starts hollering like his father with a bottle of rum
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| Who got some shit to pop? |
| Scream top of your lungs
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| Choke on your words, have a seizure, and swallow your tongue
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| I’m hollow and numb, plus I’m coming through with the goons
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| My crew carpooled to throw barstools in saloons
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| Moving the room like visuals when chewing some shrooms
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| So you should assume a doctor’s gonna suture your wounds
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| A stupid buffoon from the worst environment known
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| Where scientists clone cells like a wireless phone
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| In the 90s, and deny me when applying for loans
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| At least street cred can buy me a retirement home
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| We’re dying alone, slowly, so we’re losing control
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| Presently, I’m past caring what the future can hold
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| I’ll live for the moment, fusing both the new and the old
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| My music is cold and represents the roots of my soul
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| It’s like:
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| «Fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool» (Nah, «fuck you"'s my attitude!)
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| «Fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool» (Nah, «fuck you"'s my attitude!)
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| «Fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool» (Nah, «fuck you"'s my attitude!)
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| «Fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool» (Hahahaha!)
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| Ain’t no fictional plot—it's real shit, hitting the spot
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| It’s simmering hot with your bitch on the tip of my cock
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| Choking from it like a noose with a fisherman’s knot
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| Then I give her a shot like she’s in insulin shock
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| Still ain’t got a pot to piss in, so I’ll piss in the pots
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| In your kitchen after I get done picking the locks
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| Listen and watch. |
| The time bomb ticks on the clock
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| And after I blow, I’ll move to Cuba, living with Pac
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| Sitting atop the charts while they market my name
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| Arsenal aimed at any marketing target in range
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| Discharged of the game. |
| I don’t need the stardom and fame
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| So I’m attacking like Japan at Pearl Harbor with planes
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| Far from the same, 'cause the music industry’s wack
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| That’s why every real motherfucker’s giving me dap
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| I’m sick of these cats, so riddle me this, riddle me that
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| When will someone grow some balls and try dissing me back?
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| Tell 'em:
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| «Fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool» (Nah, «fuck you"'s my attitude!)
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| «Fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool» (Nah, «fuck you"'s my attitude!)
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| «Fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool» (Nah, «fuck you"'s my attitude!)
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| «Fuck you, fuck you, you’re cool» (Hahahaha!)
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| You should already know
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| Don’t ask me for shit
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| You know what you’ll hear
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| Hey! |
| Fuck you
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| You heard
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| I’ll repeat it, fuck you
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| Peace
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| (Fuck you, I’m out) |