| This be my post modern soul-parody
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| Depressed so I can’t speak with sincerity
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| My lips is pierced with vodka, true clarity
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| Kicked in the door like J. Cole’s house apparently
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| You thought the kids that were raising these new blocks
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| Would change the world, be the brains, let’s walk by 2Pac
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| Instead, we talk about nothing but these ooh wops
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| Chasing bread only focused on making the crew pop
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| «Hip hop is dead» and other mutterings that I stutter
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| I didn’t mean it, but I’m scrolling, tryna find Drake baby mother
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| I get restless in the winter, be coked out for the summer
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| I know better, like I’m Prezi, sucker-free, raised by my mother
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| Fuck the other side, rival gang or parents
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| Let’s get lost tonight like we Hov and Ye in Paris
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| Everybody feel the passion, do a dance, keep it mashin'
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| Shoo shoo shoo, house party where I was gassing
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| I know that things change
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| If I ever cop a Range, I’d let the braids hang
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| So I drive around the city, watch me maintain
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| Maybe picking up the pace, but we don’t change lanes
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| We can’t change lanes
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| Other side, rival gang or parents
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| Let’s get lost tonight like we Hov and Ye in Paris
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| Every other side rival gang of parents
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| Let’s get lost tonight
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| Look at how fast you drank this wine
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| You drink this shit to forget the time, you know
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| You make it look like it not fine
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| You make it look like you’re doing fine
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| Only you, only you can know what’s on your mind
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| Post-modern on The Fax and Melrose
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| It’s like you’re fighting mine
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| If the shoe fits for whom the bell tolls
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| Hate bein' wasted all this time
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| Post-modern on The Fax and Melrose
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| And it looks so easy
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| If the shoe fits for whom the bell tolls
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| I can
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| Let’s get lost tonight
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| And now we feeling free
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| Let it fall off the leaves
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| When heroes die, time is froze on L.A. streets
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| Never for a second I need
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| (Jump for X, jump for X, jump for X, jump for X, jump for X)
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| Need
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| Yeah, yeah |