| This one goes out to all of those that want success
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| Wait, not just the ones that want it
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| This goes to those that feel they deserve it
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| And this one goes to all of those that make the moves
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| and those that have paid the dues
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| To all of those that walk the fine line on the edge
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| To all the heads about to break it loose
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| And you don’t want to come close to feeling it
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| Initial reaction like «Yo, I don’t give a shh…»
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| After a minute within it, they start to think
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| «Why the hell they didn’t get it, did they not hear what he speaks?»
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| They don’t know me, it’s best that way
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| Let 'em look for tomorrow in yesterday
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| And let me strain my lungs for the love of popping amps
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| Let me spike the ball because I don’t like to dance
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| Let me paint a picture on the surface of your mind
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| I got a job at the circus and I quit writing rhymes
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| Now I travel from city to city, life of a gypsy
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| Gravel, grass, concrete, folk law and mystery
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| Yo, looking at my Gucci, it’s about that time
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| for me to pawn this piece of junk and try to take some of these finds
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| Fly angel fly, don’t ever look back
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| You better scoop that dead rat off the track, go home and cook that
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| Maybe you should trade that Mustang for a Jeep
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| So when you get too drunk to drive, you’ll have a dry place to sleep
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| Don’t forget what chocolate milk does to the hangover
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| Come on, who you think cut the tires on your Land Rover?
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| Twist the nobs and chew the fat off the shish kebab
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| Ditch the lard that cut my hair and made me quit my job
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| And if I pass before they get a chance to hear me
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| Tell 'em «Kiss my ass"and teach 'em all about my theory
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| Choking on a wishbone, position blown out the frame
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| Pissed on the remains to mark the spot and spark the flame
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| It never settles, the constant grinding of metal
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| against complicated timing, developing my threshold
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| Touching the gestalt with a little reverb and some echo
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| to add extra flavor like pesto
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| Yo, the cards are dealt and now I’m staring at my hand
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| Looking for something to toss, tryna find a spot to stand
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| The anger felt as I look across the land
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| It doesn’t equal to the eagerness and hunger to expand
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| Move past, the berry is set, the previous sets
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| carry me through the meaninglessness
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| Here I am with the word extracting nerves
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| Running toward the stage (here we go) to watch the crash occur
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| Put your head on the pillow and shut your eyes
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| Take your mind out the ghetto and touch the sky
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| Then come ease down that much feared trail of blood, sweat and love
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| Instead of flame, crying tears in the rain
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| The blunder game, and it drowned out the hunger pains
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| Numbed the brain and played life like a numbers game
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| Poppa needs a new pair of nuts, cause he lost touch
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| with the last ones fastened to the bottom of his guts
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| Yo, they don’t know me, it’s best that way
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| Let 'em look for tomorrow in yesterday
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| This child is your fate so let 'em play
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| I bet I know your age and I can guess your weight
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| Wait, wait, how can it be so simple and straight?
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| And why the hell ain’t you tripping to make some ripples in the lake?
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| I can’t figure it out, for God’s sake arguing a lost case
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| as it irritates my prostate, and when I sit home alone
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| I kick over the telephone and catch my zone inside the dial tone |