| Oaken rod system show me sloping earlobes
|
| The patient unlisted bit my lip sir
|
| Basing the feeling off weed, Go!
|
| But my Achilles is a shortly written poem
|
| Go loco, slow from dro, broke your nose
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| Scraping my bristle missile, Go!
|
| My cost is cheap
|
| My words are deep
|
| Cutting right through your soul
|
| It’s sad to see the lights burn out
|
| It’s sad to see the lights burn out
|
| It’s sad to see you run away
|
| My words unchanged
|
| Another sucker punch
|
| You were late for dinner, I was late for lunch
|
| You wanna know the truth?
|
| I eat alotta soup
|
| What’s it like to punch a drum
|
| So belong and hold it tightly son
|
| You wanna know the truth?
|
| I eat alotta soup
|
| Oh, no
|
| Such slow stoic teeth of mine
|
| Box him in, Uncle Leo is between your thighs
|
| Your soak in rusting these slope driven pots 'n pans
|
| No time to rush him, delete my deleted land
|
| Yo who proves to me to believe what you need without me
|
| Who proves to believe in me
|
| Yo who proves to believe without me
|
| Don’t believe that you’re with me, just to believe
|
| Just to and just to and just to and just to believe
|
| Blow up your lungs
|
| Let your mouth fill with water
|
| Still hang on my every word
|
| Because I promise I’m coming back
|
| I blocked your three point shot, you get caught napping a lot
|
| Your handles worse than Chris A. when he’s high on pot
|
| You’re like an epileptic version of a ballet dancer
|
| KG might say that you have cancer
|
| Blow up your lungs
|
| Let your mouth fill with water
|
| Still hang on my every word
|
| Because I promise I’m coming back
|
| Blow up your lungs
|
| Let your mouth fill with water
|
| Still hang on my every word
|
| Because I promise it’s gonna be your last |