Yo-yo-yo
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Brother sister, we are cunts, we are here until the morning
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A bow to the water is yes, smoke from a bucket
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I look around: a bunch of bodies put away in the trash
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The smell of urban soaked up there, the cops are on the heels
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Here in the anthill people live
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From Monday to Monday, they are waiting for the final
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We'll stir up riots if they don't drive in
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Heads are growing here - this is cool (cool)
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Here the evil clown soaked hard
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I neighed myself, and let's throw bricks at the cops
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We are not a Flintstone family, but a Capone family
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Give us microphones, there are Masons around
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These balloons are for the fight against Babylon
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Do without shooting, they will crush you like insects
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Everyone who is with me, I will ask you on board
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And in the end, I will torture the fucking teleport (a)
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Now tell me what do you see? |
(a?)
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Flowers wilted in these flower beds (a)
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My eyes are pierced by acrid smoke
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We want to fly, but while we grow wings (a)
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Now tell me what do you see? |
(a?)
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Flowers wilted in these flower beds
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My eyes are pierced by acrid smoke
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We want to fly, but while we grow wings
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Strange world with strange people
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Foreign whores, for wooden rubles
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They fell here, they sprinkled in my pocket
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Set it on fire (yo), it's time to burn them down
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You can't surprise me, every day is a thin thread
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There is no desire to rot here, you know, I want to create
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The sky spat snow on the ground
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She is dozing, and will be a bed for people
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I will climb above all then
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At the bottom of the house, wires, currency, water
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A couple of attacks, I'm almost in the firewood
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I play with the bong the way I played with the organ Bach
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Music in your ears, in our closets
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Bazooka on ciphers nah, look for me in the yards
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Puffs of smoke reach for the clouds like me (yo-yo) - this is not an article (s)
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Now tell me what do you see? |
(a?)
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Flowers wilted in these flower beds (e)
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My eyes are pierced by acrid smoke
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We want to fly, but while we grow wings (a)
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Now tell me what do you see? |
(a?)
|
Flowers wilted in these flower beds
|
My eyes are pierced by acrid smoke
|
We want to fly, but while we grow wings |