| All these haters, see you later
|
| All that I could do, but you don’t even feel me though
|
| I know you know I know you got that power
|
| That power
|
| Oh, oh oh
|
| So CG, but a nigga stay real though
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| I’m fly, I’m ill, I’m runnin' shit
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| 3-points, field goal
|
| Rappers used to laugh like I tripped and fell
|
| Cause I don’t stunt a gold cross like I Christian, bail
|
| Yeah, they starin' at me jealous 'cause I do shows bigger
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| But your looks don’t help like an old gold digger
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| Uncool, but lyrically I’m a stone cold killer
|
| So it’s 400 blows to these Truffaut niggas
|
| Yeah, now that’s the line of the century
|
| Niggas missed it, too busy, they lyin' 'bout penitentiary
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| Man, you ain’t been there, nigga you been scared
|
| And I’m still livin' single like Synclaire
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| Lovin' white dudes who call me white and then try to hate
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| When I wasn’t white enough to use your pool when I was eight
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| Stone Mountain, you raised me well
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| I’m stared at by Confederates, but hard as hell
|
| Tight jeans, penny loafers, but I still drink a fo' dime
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| Staying on my me shit, but hated on by both sides
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| I’m just a kid who blowin' up with my father’s name
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| And every black «You're not black enough»
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| Is a white «you're all the same»
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| Mm Food like Rapp Snitch Knishes
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| 'Cause it’s Oreos, Twinkies, coconuts, delicious
|
| How many gold plaques you want inside your dining room?
|
| I said, «I want a full house»
|
| They said, «You got it, dude»
|
| All these haters, see you later
|
| All that I could do, but you don’t even feel me though (Brra)
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| I know you know I know you got that power
|
| That power
|
| Oh, oh oh
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| Holla, holla, holla, holla at your boy
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| Like your dad when he’s pissed off
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| Got flow, I could make a cripple crip walk
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| Niggas' breath stank, all they do is shit talk
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| People want a real man, I made 'em wait this long
|
| Maybe if he bombs, he’ll quit and keep actin'
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| And save paper like your aunt does with McDonald napkins
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| How’d it happen? |
| Honesty did it
|
| See all of my competition at the bodies exhibit
|
| Yeah, I bodied the limits and I deaded them fakers
|
| Motherfuck if you hate it, cremated them haters
|
| So, my studio be a funeral
|
| Yeah, this is our year, oh you didn’t know?
|
| Uh, yeah I’m killin' you, step inside the lion’s den
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| Man I’m hov if the 'O' was an 'I' instead
|
| On stage wit' my family in front of me
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| I am what I am: everything I wanna be
|
| All these haters, see you later
|
| All that I could do, but you don’t even feel me though
|
| I know you know I know you got that power
|
| That power
|
| Oh, oh oh
|
| This is on a bus back from camp
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| I’m thirteen and so are you
|
| Before I left for camp I imagined it would be me and three or four other dudes
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| I hadn’t met yet, running around all summer, getting into trouble
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| It turned out it would be me and just one girl. |
| That’s you
|
| And we’re still at camp as long as we’re on the bus
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| And not at the pickup point where our parents would be waiting for us
|
| We’re still wearing our orange camp t-shirts. |
| We still smell like pineneedles
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| I like you and you like me and I more-than-like you
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| But I don’t know if you do or don’t more-than-like me
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| You’ve never said, so I haven’t been saying anything all summer
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| Content to enjoy the small miracle of a girl choosing to talk to me
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| And choosing to do so again the next day and so on
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| A girl who’s smart and funny and who, if I say something dumb for a laugh
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| Is willing to say something two or three times as dumb to make me laugh
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| But who also gets weird and wise sometimes in a way I could never be
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| A girl who reads books that no one’s assigned to her
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| Whose curly brown hair has a line running through it
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| From where she put a tie to hold it up while it was still wet
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| Back in the real world we don’t go to the same school
|
| And unless one of our families moves to a dramatically different neighborhood
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| We won’t go to the same high school
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| So, this is kind of it for us. |
| Unless I say something
|
| And it might especially be it for us if I actually do say something
|
| The sun’s gone down and the bus is quiet. |
| A lot of kids are asleep
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| We’re talking in whispers about a tree we saw at a rest stop
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| That looks like a kid we know
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| And then I’m like, «Can I tell you something?» |
| And all of a sudden I’m telling you
|
| And I keep telling you and it all comes out of me and it keeps coming
|
| And your face is there and gone and there and gone
|
| As we pass underneath the orange lamps that line the sides of the highway
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| And there’s no expression on it
|
| And I think just after a point I’m just talking to lengthen the time
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| Where we live in a world where you haven’t said «yes» or «no» yet
|
| And regrettably I end up using the word «destiny»
|
| I don’t remember in what context. |
| Doesn’t really matter
|
| Before long I’m out of stuff to say and you smile and say, «okay»
|
| I don’t know exactly what you mean by it, but it seems vaguely positive
|
| And I would leave in order not to spoil the moment
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| But there’s nowhere to go because we’re on a bus
|
| So I pretend like I’m asleep and before long, I really am
|
| I wake up, the bus isn’t moving anymore
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| The domed lights that line the center aisle are all on
|
| I turn and you’re not there
|
| Then again a lot of kids aren’t in their seats anymore
|
| We’re parked at the pick-up point, which is in the parking lot of a Methodist
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| church
|
| The bus is half empty. |
| You might be in your dad’s car by now
|
| Your bags and things piled high in the trunk
|
| The girls in the back of the bus are shrieking and laughing and taking their
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| sweet time
|
| Disembarking as I swing my legs out into the aisle to get up off the bus
|
| Just as one of them reaches my row
|
| It used to be our row, on our way off
|
| It’s Michelle, a girl who got suspended from third grade for a week
|
| After throwing rocks at my head
|
| Adolescence is doing her a ton of favors body-wise
|
| She stops and looks down at me
|
| And her head is blasted from behind by the dome light, so I can’t really see
|
| her face
|
| But I can see her smile. |
| And she says one word: «destiny»
|
| Then her and the girls clogging the aisles behind her all laugh
|
| And then she turns and leads them off the bus
|
| I didn’t know you were friends with them
|
| I find my dad in the parking lot. |
| He drives me back to our house and camp is
|
| over
|
| So is summer, even though there’s two weeks until school starts
|
| This isn’t a story about how girls are evil or how love is bad
|
| This is a story about how I learned something and I’m not saying this thing is
|
| true or not
|
| I’m just saying it’s what I learned
|
| I told you something. |
| It was just for you and you told everybody
|
| So I learned cut out the middle man, make it all for everybody, always
|
| Everybody can’t turn around and tell everybody, everybody already knows,
|
| I told them
|
| But this means there isn’t a place in my life for you or someone like you
|
| Is it sad? |
| Sure. |
| But it’s a sadness I chose
|
| I wish I could say this was a story about how I got on the bus a boy
|
| And got off a man more cynical, hardened, and mature and shit
|
| But that’s not true. |
| The truth is I got on the bus a boy. |
| And I never got off
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| the bus
|
| I still haven’t |