| I wrote «L.I.T.P.M.» |
| on my hand with your ink pen
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| You asked me what it is, I find out with an ellipsis
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| I was humming, «I've been set free,» swerving through security like a ceramic
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| donkey in an inner rant
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| Wearing filthy once-white terrace pants with a broken floor tom,
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| it’s such a luxury
|
| They might bust my lady but they’ll never get me
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| They might bust my lady but they’ll never get me
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| What are we good for if we can’t make it?
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| What are we good for if we can’t make it, make it?
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| What are we good for if we can’t make it?
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| What are we good for if we can’t make it, make it?
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| Make it, make it
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| Make it, make it
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| You can’t control the system, can’t control my mind
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| You can’t control me, you can’t control me |