| Hunts for fun-the bastard son
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| The stress is a hundred and fifty percent
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| What’s it to you?
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| Hard to quit-He's obsolete
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| The best we can do is not peek
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| What’s it to you?
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| Hoot me this:
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| Can I get it done when I’m just above the meniscus?
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| I’m tweaked out, but that’s just the way it crumbled
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| When you’re stuck in the past, it’s murder
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| Why would you dig that shit up?
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| Fram di battam, wash di room fah mi chain
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| -Cup full ah piss
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| An eh brimma', brimma', brimma'
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| Si mi pan di news
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| Mek mi choose-fools
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| Cah mi jah rinna', rinna'
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| I’ve been infested by people like you
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| Who write things in cursive to seem more legit'
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| I’m beginning to understand the disappointment in that fuzzy head
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| 'Cause how can you kill someone
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| When you won’t even make your bed?
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| I’m the son of a bitch! |
| And at with’s end
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| -I've stepped more stones than I comprehend
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| There’s nobody home inside
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| Believe me, I’ve checked
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| It’s a frequent conundrum
|
| But hoot me this:
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| Can I get it done when I’m just above the meniscus?
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| I’m freaked out, but that’s just the way it tumbled
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| If it’s all up to me, let’s murder
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| Because fuck everybody else
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| Fram di battam, wash di room fah mi chain
|
| -Cup full ah piss
|
| An eh brimma', brimma', brimma'
|
| Si mi pan di news
|
| Mek mi choose-fools
|
| Cah mi jah rinna', rinna'
|
| I’ve been infested by people like you
|
| Who write things in cursive to seem more legit'
|
| When an author writes disaster
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| He picks words that can symbolize the way he feels
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| -The way he thinks
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| -The way he perceives the end
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| And it almost happened
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| Overgrown by weeds from my dark past
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| It almost happened
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| The murder seeds were planted by God’s hand
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| It almost happened |