| Yo, I’m your live tour guide to see what I saw
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| See how my street’s an eye sore like styes deep inside pores
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| I see myself as a beast combined with Guy Forbes
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| Who feels the need to rhyme and lead the blind like seeing eye dogs
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| I’ll die for what I believe, what we’d survive for
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| Beefing with evil crime lords who creep with a team of cyborgs
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| Coming at me with knives, swords, and nines. |
| I’m squeezing mine towards
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| Fighting ‘til hell is freezing, with demons screaming, «My lord!»
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| I’ll redefine raw, started deep in my core
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| Whoever wants to set it off can feel free—July 4th
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| They say my mind’s off and ‘Bolic's got too strange
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| Like Bush, Saddam Hussein, and Obama watching Loose Change
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| I’m ‘bout as humane as pouring pots of butane
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| On you like drops of new rain and lighting the hottest blue flame
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| Mixing shots of Ukraine vodka with toxic new strains
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| Of pot and watching you lames rot atop the food chain
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| Living in my own head, I’m a monster
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| The voices in my skull said, «Do what you got ta»
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| You are broke with no bread, so do it proper
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| Danger, this is code red. |
| No one can stop us
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| Yo, my conduct provokes sluts that I trust are dolts
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| Like, «'Bolic's got screws loose. |
| He always drops nuts and bolts»
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| That’s a fucking joke, ho. |
| You would open wide
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| Expecting me to dump a load, so it should cum/come as no surprise
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| You should sit at home and cry until you blow a guy
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| And show your bipolar side with lows and highs like ocean tides
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| I keep an open eye and focus my attention
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| Or they’ll multiply like Gremlins soaked by the hose of a fire engine
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| They’ll vocalize attention on some «Crush, Kill, Destroy»
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| Stress and, when there’s nothing left, yes, I must fill the void
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| I’m the real McCoy, sorry that I’m not respectful
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| Dr. Jekyll’s drugs are in my blood at a toxic level
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| I’m all gassed up—sparking this is flammable
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| Exploding ‘cause they’re marketing these parlour tricks as magical
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| I’m ‘bout as rational as starving vicious animals
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| But still full of myself like a narcissistic cannibal
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| Living in my own head, I’m a monster
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| The voices in my skull said, «Do what you got ta»
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| You are broke with no bread, so do it proper
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| Danger, this is code red. |
| No one can stop us
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| I love my kids but hate the way their mothers talk
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| Whores breaking balls like Roy Hobbs knocking a cover off
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| I’m fucking lost. |
| But who am I without the stress?
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| Without the bills, bouncing checks? |
| Without the countless debt?
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| I’m in the booth, feeling like I died a thousand deaths
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| While fans say, «Why the fuck haven’t you dropped your album yet?»
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| I’ve been a recluse, choosing to be on house arrest
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| And, honestly, I need to change a Little like I’m Malcolm X
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| Graff writer turned rapper, running out of breath
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| Same story, painting masterpieces with the alphabet
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| The day I sell’s an omen. |
| The gates of Hell are frozen
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| People sleep more than narcoleptics taking melatonin
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| My brain cells were chosen, DNA’ll shape shift
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| The Anunnaki going kamikaze in his space ship
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| I’m a silverback gorilla going ape shit
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| King Kong pounding his chest, Empire State shit
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| Living in my own head, I’m a monster
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| The voices in my skull said, «Do what you got ta»
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| You are broke with no bread, so do it proper
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| Danger, this is code red. |
| No one can stop us |