| Just another suburban stereotype
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| I’ve got the love for the rhythms
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| And the Grooves to Spite
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| That I’m not from the islands
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| I’m the palest of white
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| I’m putting the reggae roots together
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| For the words that I write
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| But I can’t relate to a struggle that I’ve never seen
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| I can’t praise a god that I don’t believe in
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| You might think that i’ve been lying when it comes from the seems
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| But I’m not a fucking lion I’m a drunk with a dream
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| And I’m a million miles from everything
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| I thought I’d become
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| I’ve lost all my faith in the Lord above
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| And if I work real hard and keep my convictions
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| I could still fail and satisfy everyone’s predictions
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| So I drink to stay numb
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| But I sing to stay alive
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| Ain’t a shot big enough to keep me satisfied
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| No rhymes smart enough for me to save my pride
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| There’s a fire burning in me that I cannot deny
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| Yeah!!!
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| And no I ain’t preaching shit
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| All I want is to be able to make enough money with
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| Music to quit waiting tables
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| And my Blood runs cold
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| As I try to comprehend
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| The words we diefied that are creations of men
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| I’m just a hopeless romantic with the focus
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| I’m hopeless, writing love song after love song
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| And I hope that I can cope with
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| The truth of my reality
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| But It’s hard for me to swallow
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| The realest love I know
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| Is between my liver and a bottle
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| Decidedly rough I have confided enough
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| I am forever in possession of unrequited love
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| So I tether my confessions
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| To the words I supply
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| I would rather die alone then settle for a lie
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| Because I’m a dying breed
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| The extinction of a race
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| Separating heads from shoulders
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| So I can spite my face
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| Been coming around like a brother, a son
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| Do a skip from the mow that I’ve worn in the ground
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| With the walls closing in on my prophetic sin
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| I would like to explain but before we begin
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| If you’re waiting for me to fall
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| Take a seat and hold your breath
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| It’s almost last call
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| And I’m just one shot away from an early grave
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| I’ve been running at a pace I can’t maintain
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| There’s a demon living in me that’s controlling my brain
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| A Poison running through me that I’ll never contain
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| So I siphon it off with a mic and a pen
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| But the growth is exponential, it’s drawing me in
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| Acting inconsequentially I’m lost at the same
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| You call it White boy’s reggae
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| I call it «Sanity's End» |