| Banging rocks together makes sunshine
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| Banging heads with rocks 'till blood comes: the writing process
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| Everything has diapers on and smells like
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| It’s time for a change
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| Or some holes in the flag
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| My whole perspective relies solely on questions
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| That can’t have answers
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| Like everyone in their assumptions
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| A big pigpen driven by dead dogs;
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| If that’s your site
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| Put up a superhero with a better pokerface
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| This noble cause reeks of self-gratification
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| But it’s more like no satisfaction
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| So if I die
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| Tell 'em the fessin' go to college
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| And all the writers go to Heaven
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| If you wasn’t born on this planet
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| Blame the World for being there
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| I’m not assuming responsibility for everyone lost in the shuffle;
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| My whole philosophy is based on moodswings
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| Limited attention spans and an expansion pack for everything
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| Am I feeling it?
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| Mostly full of it
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| Selling my cuts for the art of it
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| Placed all of my faith in these heretics
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| We’re all future presidents;
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| Nobody knows it yet
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| That’s the beauty of it all
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| Welcome to my desert island
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| The weather is glorious
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| Take a picture
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| (No one reads the articles)
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| I need music with texture and
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| Someday, a happy meal
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| Rude awakening after rude awakening
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| I’m asking y’all to be polite until
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| I match the blood on the battlefield
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| With the gleam in my eye
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| If I could make it stop raining
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| This whole damn place wouldn’t know
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| What to do with all the sunlight
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| I’ve been saving up for a life like this
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| Your God is booing you offstage
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| And your heroes don’t respect you
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| It’s all in vain and can’t be bought:
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| Hung from the ceiling and often attached to the first thought
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| She gave me a handshake full of empty promises
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| And now I’m thirty minus something
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| Plus I wrestle demons down to the ground in my spare time
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| It’s a new day
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| The pigeons no longer fly yonder;
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| They make rappers out of messengers and text from all the classics
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| Meet the archangel with two minutes to live at all times
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| I hold a mirror against a mirror against a mirror against a mirror
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| What I’m saying is:
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| Word is deceased
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| Work is slavery
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| They’re saving asses for the big layoff
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| Where they lie you down to take it like a native colonized
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| By search and seizure
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| The grass is always greener and when you make it there
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| It dies (if getting there don’t kill you)
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| And the people there don’t share
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| This is what your bones will sound like when they play 'em in space
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| If I could make it stop raining
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| This whole damn place wouldn’t know
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| What to do with all the sunlight
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| I’ve been saving up for a life like this
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| Your God is booing you offstage
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| And your heroes don’t respect you |