| Unsafe Sextet, It’s Unsafe Sextet
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| You get some piccolos and fashionistas with jumpsuits
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| Unsafe Sextet, It’s Unsafe Sextet
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| I frown upon the meaning of blitzkrieg
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| When the sepdia tint bleeds out of your sleezy club striptease
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| You give the cheesy club chick feed
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| Your reality tv stud misreads his scripted pig oinks
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| So I disjoint his measly thug prestige
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| When my wheezing lung is squeezed
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| Out of the pitiful entrapments of an able bodied squatter
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| I spew frothy fodder
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| From the tenuous underpinning of a corroded mind
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| I can’t learn a thing
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| Yet my creative furnishings are a body of water
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| So I’m a coffee potter
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| Yes I’m a barista at starbucks
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| You can lessen my financial woes
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| Just swipe your visa card once
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| Buy this explosive whoopee cushion
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| My loathsome pussfooting should be put in
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| Runs with a pizza parlor runts want of arcade tokens
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| Join the styled fauna of the industry mixer and suffer mild trauma
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| I need a chemistry kit sir
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| And not to coddle pistol grips I only need one popsicle stick
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| For my boyz n the hood diorama
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| Oh my band sucks shit
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| Were not first on no bills
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| We play sand buckets
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| And eat birth control pills
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| And my fingertips look like crisp fried ends
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| I go off
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| Diss my friends
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| Looking at the negative balance on my account through a fish eyed lens
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| You get some tap shoes and snorkles and bandmates
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| And sheet music with trombones and handguns
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| And what do you got
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| Unsafe sextet
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| We upstage the best yet and tongue bathe cassette decks
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| Holding unpaid rent checks
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| You get some piccalos and cutlery and thermoses
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| And fashionistas with jumpsuits and congos
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| And what do you got
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| Unsafe sextet
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| Gilded hearts of booklovers
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| And you decided to write the hip hop version of karma sutra
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| After being fired from your job for uprocking to close the water cooler
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| And you decided to write the hip hop version of karma sutra
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| After being fired from your job for uprocking to close the water cooler
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| In the regalia of a star prick I measure our genitalia with a yardstick
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| And dethrone my third person drowning it in sea foam
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| And drink the blood from its wing nub dipping in it with cheese scone
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| Exchanging pelvic thrusts while pulling the elephant tusk from my cheekbone
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| Put my dirty feet in a pair of socks and my bird beak in a swear box
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| And unfasten my pants
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| Insure that my mojo crash lands on your happenstance
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| You’re a flash in the pan
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| Quid pro quo with the newest thing to come out
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| With me its no go I’m a shooting range cut out
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| But my woodie’s blair underwooden, you should book me with wonder women
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| I ain’t go the suggested footwear but the kids leave the breakfast nook bare
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| When I prep fixins I’m hedging clipping their reading habits at the book fair
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| But I’m too pithy and far fetched to compete with your hickeyed guitar neck
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| I hear the political convictions of your depbut EP dwarf isclamfascism
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| Great news! |
| you get rave reviews 5 out of 5
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| But this’ll leave your noodle full blown this year were touring funeral homes
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| And that self serving agenda will buckle under the weight of these lengthy
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| diatribes
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| Need you decided to write the hip hop version of karma sutra
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| After being fired from your job for uprocking to close the water cooler
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| And you decided to write the hip hop version of karma sutra
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| After being fired from your job for uprocking to close the water cooler
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| Oh your games so tough, it de magnetized my key card
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| Its so hot and fresh, your merch booth needs a sneeze guard
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| And I fall off without a tug on the ripchord
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| I amount to fuzz of the mixboard
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| But how can I get my game re-charged, tell me
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| Oh gilded hearts of booklovers
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| You don’t have to be careful let your hinged airhole swing ajar
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| We have disemboldened the cookie cutters
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| Who the fuck do they think they are
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| Oh compromised worldview
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| Please don’t mind me as I kindly scratch my scabs
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| Our nerve endings curly q
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| When brushed up against the naps of flags
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| Or that fascist vag. |
| or that |