| P.O.S.:
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| As I perspire through my pigment
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| Fire a cigarette, sire some newness
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| Dire corners stay dim lit
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| Dim wits stickin to rugers
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| Slim kids sticking to coolness
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| Brollic youth’ll get ruthless
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| Foolish will end up toothless
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| I slide through
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| Die when I’m lied to
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| (lie back)
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| Lay down, been dead, no salutes
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| No crowns, right?
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| They yellin 'hurry up and buy
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| Open your mouth and shut your eyes'
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| And no one even acts surprised no more…
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| Knowmore.org
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| So sore no pores enough to support
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| What i need to flush
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| All we need is a rush
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| All we need is a dutch
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| All we need is some weed (wrong)
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| All we need is a push
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| All we need is a boost
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| Who can’t handle the truth?
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| All I need is these big black motherfuckin boots
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| Who are you?
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| (On the move… on the move… Get a grip… Get a move on…)
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| Cadence Weapon:
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| Young man is a gargoyle, get thrown off the building
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| And for a while, they all used to talk about building
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| But then the star, he got fired from the building
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| Then he went from song billings to bomb building
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| I made my drop
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| Cause you really used to get it, how you’d push it to the limit and
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| The kids vibe with it
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| But you stopped
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| Paralysis averages made on the charts have waned in the days
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| Since you stopped
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| Like a Wilson brother, you would fill song covers in the bin
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| 'Til you get dropped
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| The well is dry, head is high for once until you drop
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| But you had nobody tell you, «buddy, you should stop»
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| Cautionary tale, auctions, every sale, so they can shop
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| Your remains still remain even when you’re in a box
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| Wait to see him at wax museums for photo ops
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| No mas, no more, you were a whore for the props
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| The lock’s not off, it’s still on, you sing songs, but the light in
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| Your mind’s turned off
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| Deferred trust, rust never sleeps, why won’t you just move off?
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| (On the move… on the move… Get a grip… Get a move on…)
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| B. Dolan:
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| Don’t we love the static?
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| Fall back reset default automatic
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| Pause that
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| Borders intact, cemented, all stagnant
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| Struck dumb, stuck to the floor
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| Raw arrogance
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| Collectible kicks, the broad spectrum is sick
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| We need more medicine
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| Less cough suppressant
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| Settled on a coffin fetish
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| And worship of solid objects
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| It’s good to be hard but it’s harder to be honest
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| It’s nice to be smart but can you move an audience
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| Draw a crowd or paint a picture?
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| The temple sinks under the weight of scripture
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| The false idols and fake honors
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| I admit I lost faith when they chained us to the monument;
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| Saw the waves raise to erase our accomplishment
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| We’re not healthy, we’re just heavy
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| You’re not a Souljah Boy you’re a mercenary
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| In a cryogenic sleep
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| Fighting windmills, locked up in a deep freeze
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| Froze in a still pose and sold to the museum
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| Acquired some new pieces but
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| You don’t need 'em
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| Hand over the jewels
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| This is a robbery
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| Nobody moves |