| Might be a little cynical at times,
|
| But I feel I earned that right throughout the years, you know
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| Now It might sound a little bit bleak
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| When I speak on the Mic
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| Like I’m in the shadow creeping like a thief in the night
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| But the thought pops up that it all comes down to
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| Who got muscle, who got hustle when it all comes round
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| Cause the bigger the gun seems, the bigger the payoff
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| And every player out there’s, quitting his day job
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| To get a piece of pie, a spoon full of gravy
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| Cruise a Mercedes, home to a room full of Ladies
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| Understand, it has a rubber band-effect
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| And it’s coming back to get all the money you collected
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| And when it does, man, it’s stings on the rewind
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| Can’t cut corners, no such thing as a free ride
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| Caught you a break, so you thought it was safe
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| But all the mistakes you made got you lost in the race, man
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| I used to doubt it, now I’m all about it
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| Show your peace-signs, turn it up a little louder, like
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| Doctor, give me my prognosis
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| Cyni-Cyni-Cyni-Cynikaliosis
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| I was feeling fine till yesterday
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| Maybe you and I should focus
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| Cynikaliosis
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| Feeding us the lie, we never wait
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| Now people don’t react, we just sleep on the fact
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| That the blood is in the street, knee-deep in Iraq
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| Our politicians up and told us — step aside cause it’s fight night
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| Media they kept us mesmerized by the bright lights
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| Government — headed up by borderline psycho (wow)
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| What good is freedom if it’s only for white folks (damn)
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| This ain’t no wrestle mania, man
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| Unless your residence is on Pennsylvania Ave
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| It’s like the wild, wild west
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| Where the marshal is the outlaw
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| Ducked when he swung, but he caught you with his south paw
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| The shit is giving me a ulcerdoe
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| All these free-masons mixed up with skulls and bones
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| All these white-collar crooks get their business poppin
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| And all you do is think about your Christmas shopping
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| Well, grab what you can, but don’t let it fool you
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| See the mans got a plan, and it doesn’t include you, like
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| Doctor, give me my prognosis
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| Cyni-Cyni-Cyni-Cynikaliosis
|
| I was feeling fine till yesterday
|
| Maybe you and I should focus
|
| Cynikaliosis
|
| Feeding us the lie, we never wait
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| You can take the shoes of my feet and move it along
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| I won’t loose any sleep over nothing that small
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| But don’t take my mind of what’s right and what’s wrong
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| See, we need our vision to see where we going
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| And I know, and I know it’s about time and the money and the money and time
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| Working man at his house saying: honey I’m trying
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| To get you everything you want, outrunning the line
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| Nine-to-five, night shifts, till one of us dies
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| So you can look like Kate Blanchet or Scarlett Johansen
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| Parade around the block in the hottest new fashion
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| Million-dollar smile while you shop at the mall
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| While I wait around the house for the doctor to call,
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| And say:
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| -Hello?
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| -Mister Reisch. |
| I’m afraid a have some bad news for you.
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| -Ugh, ok.
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| -Well, the test results are back and quite frankly, it ain’t looking to good
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| -Wait, whats wrong?
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| -It's a dismount prognosis for you.
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| -Ok.
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| -Yeah, very bad to say the least.
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| Doctor, give me my prognosis
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| Cyni-Cyni-Cyni-Cynikaliosis
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| I was feeling fine till yesterday
|
| Maybe you and I should focus
|
| Feeding us the lie, we never wait |