| I feel phenomenal as usual
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| Pharmaceuticals, glue stick to crucify me at Bonnaroo
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| But I don’t know if I’m in Tennessee, Chicago, or Houston
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| In the corner trying to seek solitude
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| Shallow but such a hollow dude
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| I won’t even swallow solid food
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| Alcoholic too, plus I’m on lean like the Tower of Pisa
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| Top it off I’m on mushrooms so fuck all of you
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| Roses to violet mollies are blue
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| Lost in a ball of confusion
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| Its all an illusion
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| It’s probably the shrooms I’m on
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| Cause I think I started hallucinating
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| Cause I just thought I just heard Jay Electronica and Odd Future’s new shit
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| And all I can do is follow the music
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| And end up with Paula Abdul at Lollapalooza
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| Fillin' water balloons with nail polish remover
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| Just a problem in wallowing fumes
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| I feel uptight I gotta get looser
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| After I finish polishing off this bottle of booze I got a solution
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| Concentrated like orange juice so I’m not as diluted
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| Cause all this delusion got me seein' shit
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| Excusez-moi but that coochie that passed
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| You see her ass? |
| Wouldn’t make her my main squeeze
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| But juicier ass, it belongs in a juicer
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| It’s mouth waterin' too so I walked up to it like I’m Marshall
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| Wanna try to meet my standards? |
| I’ll Introduce ya
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| Oh I’m a misogynist too but I’m not a masseuse
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| But my attitude is rubbin' off on the youth
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| A chronic abuser, not only user of marijuana
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| I mean verbal assault that I use to smoke all of you losers
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| Got a bazooka, a shotgun, a ruger, a Glock, and a nuke
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| And a Rottweiler too, I’m not in the mood so
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| When I say I’m bringing the TEC out
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| I’m not coming to repair your fuckin' electronic computers
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| God, I’m gonna puke
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| I’m so gone off the hookah
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| I think I swallowed a loofah
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| I’m tore up, demolished, a fuckin' stone like Oliver
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| Like I looked Medusa in the eyeball to seduce her
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| The thoughts I produce are loony tunes
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| The box of usable latex gloves and the socks and the shoes
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| To replace next up Veronica’s boobs
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| And a paychecks that were stuffed in a glove box
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| In a blue Honda with used condoms were clues
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| The girl was just not the one suitable for him
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| Right For Me will change me rearrange my head to be
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| Just right for you and me don’t laugh, please listen
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| Don’t laugh, please listen
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| Thought I could endure the pressure
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| Collapse and crumble perhaps
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| Relapsing under that
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| Well that’s a bunch of crap
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| In the clutch, I’m the Captain Crunch of rap
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| And I’m sick of acting humble thats enough of that
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| Fuck that shit, cut the sack
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| Like its a natural reaction
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| That’s why I’m actually trapped in this shoving match
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| Cause push keeps coming to that
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| I can keep getting my ass kicked, keep it coming back
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| Like a sarcastic crumpled sack of shit so mad
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| Disgruntled had some struggles yeah
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| But that passionate hunger’s back
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| The fantastic juggling act
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| And the way I flip my tongue on the track
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| It’s like verbal acrobatics
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| But in fact
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| Last time I tried to pull off a dramatic stunt as drastic
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| I fuckin' crashed my hovercraft
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| After I strapped the duffel bag to my back
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| And stuck the massive punchin' bag in it
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| An elastic bungee strap, proper plaster, a thumb tack
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| And a piece of plastic bubble wrap
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| Went spastic and fuckin' snapped
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| Jumped and splashed in a puddle of battery acid
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| Stumbled back, recovered, back flipped
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| And landed on a gymnastic tumble mat
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| And for my last trick, lunge on back lash
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| On a NASA shuttle flap, fuckin' snapped the rudder in half
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| Chuckled and laughed, buttaled my last rebuttal
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| And just asked him to come crash
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| And I go grab my go-go-gadget inflatable gigantic humongous mattress
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| And ceramic construction hat
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| Rubbed my magic mushroom tat
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| Fell off then splat, get up from that
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| Face taped to a waste paper basket
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| Throw up then gas, lungs collapse
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| And that’s more likely than finding someone that’s
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| Couple of shots of Jäger
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| Public intoxication, dis-fuckin'-combobulation
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| Flooded with thoughts of anger
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| While I was away I know probably some of you got to thinkin'
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| «You're top ten ain’t cha?"stop cause you fuckers are talkin' crazy
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| And stop interrupting you’re not even up in the conversation
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| Whether you’re punchin' a clock or famous |
| Underground, pop, or nameless, whatever your job is
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| I came to fuck with your occupation
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| You’re thinkin' just cause you came in with scrubs
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| And you brought the scalpel and sponge
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| The oxygen tank and the suction and shot the brain surgeon
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| Stuck in the operating room
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| Once you done, swapped your name with him
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| Smuggled in Ronald Reagan
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| If you duck him up Donald Fagen
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| While juggling waffles baking
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| Fuckin' McDonalds egg and cheese sausage bagel finagle
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| They flung it across the table
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| Then bump it and knock it shake it
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| Jumped and got in the way then disrupted my concentration
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| I said fuck it and lost my patience
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| Since they all woke up from sedation
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| Ain’t none of you Doctor Dre
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| So then what does it got you thinkin'
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| That you can fuck with this operation
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| Aftermath, still running hip-hop amazing
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| I’m still pluggin' along
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| No need for an assumption
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| Here’s confirmation
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| I’m up for the long duration
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| I’m just looking for something to walk away with
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| Some pocket change and a little integrity
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| Though I’ll probably be jumpin' across the stage
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| Till I’m fuckin' Madonna’s age and
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| Stuck in an awkward place in my life
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| But I shit you not like I’m fucked up with constipation
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| That day will come before I stumble upon some ladies |