| Peace
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| Yo
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| Peace, peace, peace, peace, peace, peace
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| Pow
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| Grey-scale composer living in black and white
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| With a chain mail ogre that’s just as vivid as afterlife
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| I’ve pre-seen it
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| The priests lead the acolytes, to see demons
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| Now I’m here
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| Born of the three winged-beast
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| Where the troll is live it up
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| Scene fiend, fig trees, scrolls
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| Hella villainous
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| Team D street but we killing it
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| Illest shit
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| Sick, cooped up, come vanilla chicks
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| Who you think you dealing with?
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| Get it right
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| Whip white instead of black, really the same price
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| Your soul
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| I had epiphanies of chilling
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| Smoking Buddish remedies
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| With enemies and drinking Ciroc out large cylinders
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| Ball like krill and we stop the heart
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| Feeling the shock, no hard feelings, forgot my arch nemesis
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| Stop and watch the smart pendulum clock the dark ending and optics far primitive
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| Skip, jump, then hop through the millennia
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| Her big rump, got me hot as mid summer
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| Got fam that have seen more crack than a plumbers back
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| Stat status seems hazmat, what a bummer
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| Sixteen making more noise than the thunder
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| Decoys bring ploys, scream «Oi»
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| But don’t wonder what it is
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| He drink from the chalice but he cling to the Shaolin
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| Sedated, cause the life he leads is a mystery
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| Now everybody else but the team looking shifty
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| How late is the dream of a teen just to simply bow
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| Down to the fate of the gypsies
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| Foul play leave them gripping
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| For the J’s and the K’s
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| But the laze leave them stiff-ty
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| Lane looking like he dazed and encased in a trippy
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| Can’t pray to them empty clouds
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| Pause
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| Sit back let it simmer in
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| All black
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| Just hacked Invader Zimmerman
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| Bashed the fact
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| Ring in clacks with faded Timberlands
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| Suspect like ex-preds with dated liquorice
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| Puff hectic we sketched the hated victim
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| It’s enough sex to contest with Wilt Chamberlain record
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| Poetic for like reading in excerpts
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| We experts comparing style to black wet dirt
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| Never catch feelings we’re known to tell them fetch first
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| Rap game drones embellished neck first, Chester
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| Only as know as relics, sick as Capone
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| His head is barely screwed on but always tell them what it is |