| So I was thinking, what should I do this evening?
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| I could puff a fucking blunt, I could go out drinking
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| But I’m already drunk and my trunks full of weed and
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| I reek like skunk, and the phone keeps ringing
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| — oh, it’s Mr. Christopha Walking calling
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| Talking 'bout he’s coming down now to solve all
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| My problems — and bout how he’s bringing a volume
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| Of speed so strong, it’d prolly make me think I’ve gone and
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| Fucking vanished and managed to land on a planet
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| Where every man is seen speaking scrambled Spanish and
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| Where every damn PIECE of my sanity’s damaged
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| With EACH and every milligram, filling my hand up
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| Well, damn it, I couldn’t plan it better myself
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| I told him: roll the fuck over, get to spreading the wealth
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| I shrugged my shoulders, stood up to steady myself
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| Hung the phone up then went to go, get ready for hell
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| Cuz yo dog, when I really wanna have a ball
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| I just pop a little motherfucking adderall
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| By mouth until I’m bouncing around the walls
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| Up and down all the halls, all about to fall
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| Fuck it — dip to the mall and I’m scaring people |
| Get so high, I’ll buy shirts from American Eagle
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| Why? |
| I’m not really sure, but I swear it’s the evil
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| Chemical mixture, that’s apparently seeped through
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| The brain tissue in control of my deep view
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| On issues involving shit people would tease you
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| On. |
| if they only knew I was rocking these see-through
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| Tops with these boots, they’d probably geek, dude
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| It really doesn’t matter 'cuz I’m really fucking madder
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| Than any hatter, on addy, I’ll shatter ya, matter-of-fact
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| I’m a tad bit badder, it’s sad, I better get outta
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| Here I don’t hear the little pitter-patter of ya chitter-chatter
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| You might not think I’m high
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| But you can’t see my eyes
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| It’s like a dream tonight
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| I might just die, I see the lights
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| Something’s wrong with me
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| , I’m always called a «freak»
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| Cuz all I do is hit the bong all week
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| This weed is all I need
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| You might not think I’m high
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| But you can’t see my eyes
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| It’s like a dream tonight
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| I might just die, I see the lights
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| Somethings wrong with me
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| I’m always called a «freak»
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| Cuz all I do is pop this speed |
| This adderall is all I need
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| We’re delirious, we experience physical symptoms
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| That were never meant to give us intentions
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| To continue binging on perilous chemicals
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| With visuals so clear, they’re appearing in digital
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| Staring at a mirror, thought I was invisible
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| I popped shrooms like a motherfucking inner-tube
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| Stop moving, talk to, the bottom of my tennis shoes
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| Walk into the girls locker room of a middle school
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| Yell, «breast inspector, who’s chests need braaaa’s?»
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| Chicks looking distressed, begging me to stop
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| Two minutes or less, I’m arrested by three cops
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| That’s the last time I ever listened to my Reeboks
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| So please watch, as we pop, the top to these pills
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| Empty em and drop the bottle off for re-fills
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| At a different pharmacy, and we still
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| Can hardly keep 'em longer than a week, and we kill
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| So many dexedrine and ritalin, it’s evident we’re getting it
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| In quantities so large, it’s hard to fit it in
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| The apartment we’re chilling in, a larger shipment is
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| Always with-in arms reach, of the seat yer sitting in |
| And sniffing all of it, would be a feat for Eminem
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| We sell it on the streets and we keep the dividends
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| Do speed, so it seems, the peak will never end
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| I haven’t been to sleep for a week, I’m living in
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| A tree-fort with a teen whore and a mean score
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| Of weed, spores and assorted LSD, tore
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| Up from the floor up, and I know I need more
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| Ut, for right now I’m talking slower than Eeyore
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| I rock pockets, full of hash and caps with sockets
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| Smashed through em, to take gravity bong hits
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| So massive, after you have it, you black out
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| Fall down or pass out, now, everybody gather round |