| Hey, what’s that?
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| Well, those are apple rings, this is pancake batter and that’s sausage
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| Hey, that might be pretty good!
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| Pretty good? |
| Why don’t you try it? |
| Take a batch already
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| Don’t compare me to my parents, my choices are my own
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| Cooked 'em up in my cauldron, that’s where all my money’s blown
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| And the potion made me do it, god damn, what was in it?
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| Your rapper boyfriend’s tongue and a carton of Popeye’s spinach
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| Rep the borough and the Baltics, I tried to be the nicest
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| Leave me stuck in between with an identity crisis
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| And I might just bite dust, dick around and try to write up
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| A dollar for a date just to compliment my type but
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| You throw out that slut word, that’s so old news
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| You boys are easier to use than my Velcro shoes
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| So who’s coming to chill with me and caterpillar later?
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| Mix something with the sheesha to attract you gaters
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| You tater tots on my block, don’t throw like I thought
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| Talking 'bout your third eye like these rap robots
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| And sorry Im done, I’m cocking my gun
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| Showing off and throwing shade 'cause its fun
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| So listen my son, hold your tits when you run
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| Try to keep up and don’t cry when it’s done
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| I’m sweet, Maple syrup on the beat
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| Force feed you sass pancakes every day of the week |