| Woke up at moms house around noon
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| Heard breakfast cooking and television on the news
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| Head towards the kitchen, eggs and fried pork
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| «Graffiti Writer Killed» heard words, dropped fork (damn)
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| Whoever killed the kid had a score to settle
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| Broke his face, cops found him in a bloody puddle
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| Stole all his clothes, left him in the street
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| Lying dead next to his own half finished piece
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| No known suspects, but I can guess
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| Starting with the gas mask he died with around his neck
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| So violent. |
| I remain silent
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| And hide the stencil I was working on underneath my desk
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| Drama if my momma find it
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| I’m reminded of the cats I had a fight with last week
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| Hit some licks, but ain’t seen em since
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| Man I hope they ain’t think that kid In the mask was me, shit
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| The silence in the room starts to taunt me
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| So i dip into the basement, start some laundry
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| A kid might’ve got killed because of me
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| The possibility of this being my fault haunts me
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| Need to know more about the crime
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| So I ask my drone to compile all the information online
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| In thirty secs got it all indexed
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| A two-page report slowly prints to my desk
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| A good start, but needs more focus
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| A strong cross reference might get me much closer
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| Drill down to the known sex offenders
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| Living three miles out from the spot of the murder
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| The search only came back with ten names, but five of those got eliminate quick
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| because of age
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| One female, crossed her out
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| About to see what these other four talking about |