| you left me hanging on the ropes
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| but I’m still swinging
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| while the ref is begging me to choke
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| dirty looks and bitter crowds signal the fight is fucking done.
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| you best believe there’s a war between I and me
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| if that hasn’t ended us better teach your fists to speak a little more
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| thoroughly
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| these gloves converse speaking tongues a stigmata stir
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| syllables echo through arenas
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| as teeth forget their roots
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| round two
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| eyes show through the black and blue
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| I’ll taste fear in your sweat before you’ll witness my final breath
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| I wrapped my wrists with her colors
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| I held them high and proud
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| with her hands on his leg I watched her watch me from the crowd
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| I’m suffocating while I’m waiting for the bell to ring
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| this breathing commences when I see through your shattered teeth
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| I took this match from a harlot called destiny
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| alluded an inevitable knock out
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| didn’t specify who’d be bleeding
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| all I have to offer is a kidney or rupture spleen
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| cause my fate’s still double dutching with my heart strings
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| if this bloody canvas can be the stage for our disease
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| I’ll gasp poetry to this stampeding heartbeat
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| tap out when you comprehend loyalty
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| I’ll respond when I reconcile with indifference
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| if you work on holding your breath
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| I will concentrate on thrusting every ounce of my distaste through the back of
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| your head |