| I’ve picked up a few scars
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| got a few more wrinkles but still breathing
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| I’m sore a little more in the morning but I’m feeling
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| pretty good overall on for my years
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| I’m not rich but got a couple extra bucks for a beer
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| And I’m here
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| I’m still moving I can flow I can hustle
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| A little fatter now with a bit less muscle
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| but I chuckle over things that used to keep me stressed
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| I’m not as much good looks but way more finesse
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| And I appreciate more than I had in the past
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| like getting the day off of work after a night being trashed
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| man I got a lot still
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| I got my heart and pride
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| my hair and size have changed but in my day man I…
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| rocked parts to the side
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| flat tops real high
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| rat tails in the back
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| lasers shaved so fly
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| spike cuts Faux Hawks
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| the wet look even
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| now it’s clipped at the crib under the hat I’m receding
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| the shit’s different
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| Lines, lines lines
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| write these songs along both my arms
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| the stories that I’ve piled on
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| they’ll be here when I’m gone
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| Lines, lines lines
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| write these songs along both my arms
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| the stories that I’ve piled on |
| they’ll still be here when I’m gone gone
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| I’m leaving the dreaming to those believing in fate
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| I’m sharpening blades
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| slashing my days
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| scarring the face
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| leaving a trace to follow
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| if I’m not here tomorrow
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| if you ever feel hollow
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| I’ll leave my song in a bottle
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| So here I am
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| still standing on these wounded knees
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| I’m still spitting rhymes over the same beat CD’s
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| had my run ins with death and worse yet I’ve watched dying
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| now my attitude is «fuck it» I choose flying
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| spanned the globe
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| smoked and rolled
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| hoped to grow
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| and grown to know that lots of folks say no
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| but I’m gonna go out trying
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| I am defiant
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| I’m yet to pass my prime although that’s crossed my mind
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| I am inspiring
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| or else I’m dying with nothing
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| I’m struggling
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| but I’m loving that I’m struggling for something
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| I’ve stopped asking how to state exactly what my faith is
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| it’s written mostly down upon these faded pages
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| talking mostly being honest and accepting changes
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| the rest is just details and phrasing
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| and shit’s different different different
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| shit is different different different |
| scars
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| Lines, lines lines
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| write these songs along both my arms
|
| the stories that I’ve piled on
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| they’ll be here when I’m gone
|
| Lines, lines lines
|
| write these songs along both my arms
|
| the stories that I’ve piled on
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| they’ll still be here when I’m gone gone gone |