| Just been chilling in the wilderness
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| Had the fighter drone bring foam for the swivel whip
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| Pivot Chip Skylark’s wig any simpleton
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| So I guess I’m feeling real nice since I did some pills
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| Sike, spit ice, it’ll give you chills, nigga
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| Always wondered what I’d look like with a bigger grill
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| Might steam rice for a different seal heist
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| Beam lights, let the embers build, finished, killed sights
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| On the winter flips, wife’s pretty limber
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| Nick dust keeps knights at night yelling timber
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| My eyes getting tender from the smoke, duct seeping from the white
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| Silver vent get less civil rights but he’s sick, ummmm
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| Music kept me sane for awhile
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| Now my flip name got a little fame and my style
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| Gets an upgrade, mad bummy but he’ll show you right
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| Wander in the forest getting stoned with the poltergeist
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| It seems like life’s in film noir
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| I get that everyday
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| For the creams that are burning under lit cigs
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| With the super villain’s verge of earning plunder quick swigs
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| Chilling at the spot near the dock by the ditch bridge
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| Clocks get ripped as the shot gets swifter
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| But blast back like scratching the winds blow
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| Sick fit six high hats hacking his Thor
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| Light pack of chits with a kite or in tenfold
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| Eye bags cringe nose tight from the stench
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| I’m at the freighter still skating
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| But now I’m in the crater with high and box raven
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| Sitting higher than the ancients, blood, sap, paint
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| Switch gears, smoke blunts, get lunch reacquaint with
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| My thoughts don’t floss if it ain’t spiff
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| Chilling at the bank, get lost in the faint shift
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| Shit, my height the narrow cliff
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| So stoned we converse with the psychedelic schizo |