| We live this
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| Trapped in the belly of the sickness
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| It’s sick and sadistic like six six sixes
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| It’s arithmic I sit with a lit spliff
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| My heart split into bits over big sis
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| Just slit her wrists and left a letter on the bed
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| Begging for forgiveness
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| That’s why I writ this
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| You chiefs can’t get it
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| But you can quicker then scrib’s can say bill it
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| Overstand it’s deeper than lyrics
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| When prayers exchange chains for half of the spirit
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| Trapped in a maze of masquerades and mimics
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| It might sound harsh mate
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| But to me we’re living in the last days
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| The same thing my pops say before he passed way
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| Now all I got is my youths and my Mar-J
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| So our Father, who art in heaven
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| Send me the will and strength of sixty henchmen
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| Cause I’m with words, Draw swords sever the verse
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| Ever ready with a machete for whatever occurs
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| I heard heavens on Earth
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| Then I reckon we’re cursed
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| Destined to burst weapons while repping our turf
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| To just get left in a hearse
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| You’ll be resting with worms
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| Or we can converse
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| Keep it blessing the herbs
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| I move with an incredible urge to merk anything that’s testing my firm
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| It’s better they learn |