| Just pour me a stiff drink and leave me the fuck alone
|
| My story is missed links and riddled with undertones
|
| Of various insults in between compliments
|
| Scarily impulsive and overlaid common sense
|
| Scoured the universe and scorched the entire earth
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| To find a L’Orange beat to bring you this tired verse
|
| From a tired man who once was a firebrand
|
| But once he had struck gold, he changed the entire plan
|
| Now he walks with a flask on his path
|
| Trying to figure out the math of his bills to his cash
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| Trying to make 'em match, even better leave him
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| With a little scratch for his cat and his stash
|
| But in between the laughs and the gaffes
|
| He’s a lit match, without a can full of gas
|
| And the fumes, they’re never gonna last
|
| So at last, he can light a cigarette and just relax
|
| Design flaw
|
| Design flaw
|
| Design flaw
|
| So how have things been going?
|
| How the fuck do you think?
|
| Honestly pretty bad, I’m trying to get better at
|
| Thinking about what they might put on my epitaph
|
| Or thinking about how I’ve been treating my better half
|
| Or thinking about the shit I’d be doing instead of rap
|
| I could be working at McDonald’s or at the plant
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| Instead I’m overseas, Cali to Amsterdam
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| Moscow to D.C., Paris to Bellingham
|
| But then the mind starts to think
|
| And you know, the mind it connects to the spine
|
| And the spine is entwined with the nerves, but I’m fine
|
| I’m inclined to the wine and I pine for a time
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| When my crime was the name on the spine
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| Of a book, never mind all the signs, how it looks
|
| It’s a crime, or at least how the law
|
| Has it defined and I’m trying to be fine
|
| But I’m not, my design is a flaw
|
| Design flaw
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| Design flaw
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| Design flaw |