| White devils like it
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| I’m drinking coffee brought to me
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| By white devils' sidekicks
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| They askin' if we like to get higher
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| Like they hired him
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| The fire and brimstone is known
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| To be composed of desire never twice lived
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| The metal might miss, but the beveled edge
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| Of the mind can provide tricks
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| To bring the light to the likes of whites and black kids
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| As well, it’s like magic, I’m not your average
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| Negro please, I know I’m an idiot
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| But I got a schtick and I’mma use it a little bit
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| I’m not too sure if I should clue in the little kids
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| Or if I’m too clueless to move with the bigger fish
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| Why it gotta be those two and not some other shit?
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| Take me to the mothership
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| Hate me I’m Abramovich
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| I’m Lady Gaga, I’m a fag, I’m a lesbian
|
| See me playin' bass in jam bands up at Wesleyan
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| See me at a poetry slam in like '97
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| Singing classic numbers by Otis Redding
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| Totally shredding
|
| Hoping you get it, yeah
|
| Relax relax relax relax
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| Relax relax relax relax
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| Relax relax relax relax
|
| Relax relax relax relax
|
| Yea yea yea yea yea
|
| Yea yea yea yea yea
|
| Yea yea yea yea yea
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| No no no no no
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| No no no no no
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| No no no no
|
| What good is this Cashmere
|
| If they’re still dying in Kashmir?
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| Kashmir
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| There was homes, now there’s just dust there
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| Next year, same as this year
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| A rough year
|
| Live in much fear, stay inside after dusk here
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| Brush tears from eyelids
|
| Peep violence
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| And these people is dyin'
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| I’m wildin'
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| Old Earth said they wanna move back
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| But they ain’t got enough funds to do that
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| Back in 1980, from Delhi to Queens
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| She had a pocket full of lint, he had a suitcase full of dreams
|
| From holdin' me to bagging groceries at the Pathmark
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| To scoldin' me for drinking and driving in fast cars
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| Juvenile shit
|
| I ain’t really tryin' to rap about
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| I don’t remember from b-b-ba b-blackin' out
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| These days, I’m mostly focused on my bank account
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| I ain’t backin' out until I own a bank to brag about
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| A local institution, life of the party
|
| With him and at him, brown Chris Farley
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| Kalapani Kālidāsa, Vijay from Pyaasa
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| Wilds out at night, can’t breathe through his nostrils
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| Papa need his medicine
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| Reticent to let them in
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| Hesitant bedouin
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| In elegant lettermens
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| And other fresh shit, to distract you
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| #laughsolo |