| I have been mean
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| Pity, unjust, sinful, vicious, horrible
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| I have been mean
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| They were babies in the crèche trying to weld their heads together
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| Like street-cornered gimps trying to sell their flesh forever
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| They spent the summer sweating in December weather
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| Trying to line the pockets of their barely breathing debt collector
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| Treat every animal as a fungal disease
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| And filed every lost year as a smudge on my jeans
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| I walked past the beggar clutching his knees
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| Plump tear-ducts like a swelling pustule that bleeds
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| He ate his corpse and caught a virus
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| I chewed through the city with these reinforced incisors as I absorb detritus
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| Crimson gums stuffed with titanium
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| Flicking through my future like an uninterested alien
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| Cradling my cranium, wrapped around a cheap floozy
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| The star of every under-budget B-movie
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| I sat still and let this liquor eat through me
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| Guzzling your envious intentions in a green smoothie
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| I like my nights dark
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| I like my streets empty
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| Every alleyway’s my bitch, when I’m walking through the bits
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| Got them bricks green with envy
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| I like my nights dark
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| And I like my streets empty
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| Every alleyway’s my bitch, when I’m walking to my crib
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| Until the pigs fucking get me
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| Me and death on a stretch pad, petrol in the air when I rev
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| We met desperate, I was selling dead leopards in debt
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| He said, «I sell tellies, spell letters and yes»
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| Repel any help, levelly respect it and jet
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| We gelled steadily, pelling like his cloak in the wind
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| I’d tell you everything I know if I could only begin
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| Stroking his chin, stopping as I hop off the back
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| Knots in my back, swear I’ve got my hospital swag
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| Osteopath, doctors couldn’t stop what I have
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| Bad posture, mad lust, sad slub and I’m glad
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| Another record I’ll be stuck in your brain
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| Money and fame can suck a fucking bucket of pain
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| I place love and courage well above a thumb in the cake
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| And hate coming up as nothing but a fucking disgrace
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| The muffins, the fenestrated twenty fake cousins
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| With a getaway truck to make whatever say something
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| And I’ve still got balls to break, walls to paint
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| A stack of mister CBs for Paul to take
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| You stay small while I’m smacking off a dream that we share
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| Beat with a snare, doesn’t even seem like I care
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| Teeth of a bear, penis made of Jesus' hair
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| When I speak, I kick frees to the squeak of my chair
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| Beast in the lair, diamond with a chip in the dirt
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| Deserved every bit of prison that he did and he served
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| Split with his bird, at first being single was worse
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| But then he figured his existence in a singular word
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| He kept a secret like a kid on a graff' charge
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| Act hard, screaming with a gram and a cash card
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| Splat scars, fat slappers, anchor and crash cars
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| Adam’s apple ragged as a back of a slapped arse
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| I like my nights dark
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| I like my streets empty
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| Every alleyway’s my bitch, when I’m walking through the bits
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| Got them bricks green with envy
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| I like my nights dark
|
| And I like my streets empty
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| Every alleyway’s my bitch, when I’m walking to my crib
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| Until the pigs fucking get me |