| The kid that work down at the local Baskin-Robbins
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| Got a tattoo of a lipstick print attached above his collar
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| I watched him relocating pistachio to a waffle
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| Thinking I had lost the plot if not the passion for the novel
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| He asked me what I wanted, I ordered something daft
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| He said he liked the tattoo Alex drew me of the bats
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| Thanks; |
| I like it too but modestly confess
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| In present company, my coloring is not the main event
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| Look at that neck
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| The message is immediate, the guy effs chicks
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| I spent a lot of years making friends with cool artists
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| So when they drew me tattoos I could truly feel important
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| Now some 22 year old inside a cube of brick and mortar
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| Got me questioning my morals and their corny pecking order
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| I should give a shit less
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| Cherry-No; |
| Whip-Yes
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| Lotta years
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| Uh, lotta years
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| The girl that work down at the local juice place
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| Got a head full of dreadlocks down to her waist
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| I watched her add the spinach to the ginger to the grapes
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| My hair was underwhelming, my juice was fucking great
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| Some lady orders Maca, compliments the locks
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| She asked how many years it took the girl to grow the crop
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| «It took a lot of years and then eventually I cut 'em, kept 'em
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| Reattach 'em anytime I want 'em»
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| My mind’s fucking blown
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| The future is amazing, I feel so fucking old
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| I bet you clone your pets and ride a hover-board to work
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| I used a folding map to find the juice place in the first
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| These kids are running wild, I’m still recovering from church
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| You should have seen me in the 90s, I could ollie up a curb
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| You should have seen me in the 80s
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| I was bumping New Edition, dragging acne into Hades
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| Lotta years
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| Naw mean? |
| Lotta years |