| (Soul searching, searching, searching, searching, for the truth
|
| And now that we have found it we have to tell you)
|
| Yeah it’s a little knock, a knock-knock
|
| Knock, knock
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| Knock, knock
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| Yeah
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| It’s open sesame
|
| Their perception gets triggered
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| Down a dark hallway through a hall full of mirrors
|
| Bless the sprits then wait for the eclipse
|
| Split black lips peep the power and the myth
|
| Yes my law call of all the dogs
|
| And the legislate the law
|
| Every third floor gotta weigh the fall
|
| The control your bars
|
| But it’s more than ten stories high
|
| It’s verses, chapters, preachers, pastors
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| Teachers, actors,
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| Bounce my balls of the mattress alternative
|
| Got the keys to unlock the scripts
|
| And in the kitchen she cooking jerkin' up a fish
|
| Got a wishbone make another wish
|
| Spit the pit out your mouth
|
| Sip on a stout like
|
| Soul searching, searching, searching, searching, for the truth
|
| And now that we have found it we have to tell you
|
| To tell you
|
| Now I can start with a bust
|
| Gotta get off or it’s no bark all bite, dark and rough
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| Unless four enough
|
| I’m left at a lust for us
|
| Yeah dress that duds
|
| And don’t turn rough
|
| Turn tough with slugs
|
| When love live less go up the buzz
|
| And back down pussy, you’ll come the judge
|
| But pussy go along way though
|
| So going to judge is kinda strong J
|
| Gotta know when to budge
|
| And grudge is the wrong way
|
| Right at the corner
|
| Bright as a foreigners fright
|
| Delight working through your life like a coroner
|
| It’s more important I sell it, Abra Kadabra
|
| Nigga’s mad but I can show you better than tell it
|
| Godly when it’s Ferrari, Tom Selleck
|
| The arm leg leg arm headed
|
| Soul searching, searching, searching, searching, for the truth
|
| And now that we have found it we have to tell you
|
| To tell you
|
| To tell you
|
| You, you, you
|
| To tell you
|
| To tell you
|
| Yo the elegant that cause the flush in silent spaces
|
| Paint a picture on the wall worth a thousand pages
|
| in my master basement
|
| Architect archetypes mason
|
| Crack the bottle open, run the water hot
|
| Got the glasses toastin' make the bubble pop
|
| But shorty’s on the towel, just stick one toe in
|
| Roll the jelly down the spoon, crack her blinders open
|
| Soul searching, searching, searching, searching, for the truth
|
| And now that we have found it we have to tell you
|
| To tell you
|
| To tell you
|
| You, you, you
|
| To tell you
|
| To tell you |