| When I was little I would sleep inside a laundry basket
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| My uncle Shawn was smoking meth wearing an army jacket
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| He’d take a hit and mush my face in, then he’d call me faggot
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| He drove an 87 Celica, he pawned his classic
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| My mom would reach inside, reach inside the kitchen cabinet
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| Shed grab a plate and throw it at my dad like listen that’s it
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| You cheat on me again, I’ll wait before I get too graphic
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| Let me change the subject; |
| Daddy’s still alive
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| I’ll get my ass kicked, cousin Stevie went and overdosed on OxyContin
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| His baby momma didn’t visit said its not a problem
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| I didn’t visit either though I guess my heart is rotten
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| That motherfucker never thanked me for the car I bought him
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| But come to think of it I probably shouldn’t diss him like that
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| Cause he has PTSD in 03 he went to Iraq
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| Got his left arm blown off, they sent him right back
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| Now he’s addicted to crack, damn
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| My family is fucked up
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| At my cousin Tiffany’s wedding, my uncle Daryl was drunk
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| So drunk that he couldn’t do the father-daughter dance
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| He couldn’t even stand to show the family crest alcohol and drugs
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| Cousins making love and a dirty pack of bud
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| We don’t use love, we communicate with violence
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| Guess that’s pretty normal when your lineage is Irish like this
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| I used to sleep up in the back of dads Cutlass Supreme
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| 1984 Oldsmobile, ugly and green
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| Chilling in my car seat, making up songs to the rhythm of my heartbeat
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| Listen to me, I was just another whisky soaked embryo
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| Momma said its cold outside baby so get a coat
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| I asked my dad if he would tell me about baseball
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| And he just told me 50 different reasons that he didn’t vote
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| That’s my family, the old brain trust
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| My uncle got a nostril full of old cocaine crust
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| My racist grandfather screaming at the evening news
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| «If these damn minorities don’t like it, don’t blame us!»
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| I used to tell him he was so wrong
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| He’d say «Little boy you don’t pay the bills here, so long!»
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| I would leave, I ain’t that type of guy
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| He saw his grave before we ever saw eye to eye, so long
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| My family is fucked up
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| At my cousin Tiffany’s wedding, my uncle Daryl was drunk
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| So drunk that he couldn’t do the father-daughter dance
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| He couldn’t even stand to show the family crest alcohol and drugs
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| Cousins making love and a dirty pack of bud
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| We don’t use love, we communicate with violence
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| Guess that’s pretty normal when your lineage is Irish |