| So.. . |
| sleepy
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| When I snap my fingers
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| To thine own self, be felt-tip
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| Hip as a belt clip
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| With a helmet fit for helpless feels
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| If you can help it
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| Reassess the unarmed
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| Leave refreshed and unharmed
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| Bring milk and honey to the funny farm
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| See the rest become charmed dumb
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| «An apple a day,» what apple sellers say
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| I was brought into this world with the instinct to back the hell away
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| And the will to write a rap song as long as an Alaskan day
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| To fight to balance those two feels is a personal passion play
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| But so what?
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| Flying fucks is thrown at rolling doughnuts
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| My feet is cold, but so what?
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| Cause I’m bold enough to show up
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| I-- what’s the hold up-
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| -side down, ketchup bottle speed
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| Uncoordinated, running with pigeon toes and knobby knees
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| God damn it, folks will follow me
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| Bucket of random body parts
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| Master of the sloppy arts
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| Like Kindergartners trying to be done
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| Big dumb-dumb trying to fly to the sun
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| I’m dried up and look at what I have become
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| Sing it like a church song
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| Like a old-time prayer from a dead man written on a notebook
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| Draw with a ink pen
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| Like it doesn’t even matter if it go, god damn it, it’s the first time
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| Make it like a mistake
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| Sing it like a church song
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| Written when the shit wasn’t going right
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| Sing it like it don’t hurt
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| Like it can’t break
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| Like it’s this big
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| I ain’t no chili pepper
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| I ain’t got mama’s gun
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| I ain’t in Evanescence
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| I ain’t in All-4-One
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| I got a dumb agenda
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| Can’t even make a plan
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| If you remember the moment come here and shake my hand
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| I ain’t no chili pepper
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| I ain’t got mama’s gun
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| I ain’t in Evanescence
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| I ain’t an awful one
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| I got a dumb agenda
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| Can’t even make a plan
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| If you remember the moment come here and shake my hand
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| Sing it like a church song
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| Like a old-time prayer from a dead man written on a notebook
|
| Draw with a ink pen
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| Like it doesn’t even matter if it go, god damn it, it’s the first time
|
| Make it like a mistake
|
| Sing it like a church song
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| Written when the shit wasn’t going right
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| Sing it like it don’t hurt
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| Like it can’t break
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| Like it’s this big
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| I’d rather be hiding alone like some Ewoks
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| Up in tree tops
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| Creeping around like I’m T-Boz
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| Steeping the grounds in my teapots
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| But I’m Steve Jobs
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| On my Apple updating my E-Shops
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| Eat a apple a day, take a brief pause
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| Take a nap, lie awake in-between sobs
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| Then I rap and I pray and the grief stops
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| My ego take cheap shots
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| Can’t believe how she speak to me
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| She talks like it’s neat pushing buttons like key fobs
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| Well good day, bitch, I’m writing this beat knocks
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| Tryna pen classes like Reeboks
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| Or Greek thoughts or a Fleet Fox
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| And teach a good message like Aesop’s
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| That stick to my skin just like grease spots
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| So forget all the things that my dreams cost
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| Yeah, I’m getting my kicks, fuck some clean socks
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| Ice cold, we living like freeze pops
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| Cause I’m gonna take licks while I defrost
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| Divest from your demons, and weak stocks
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| And invest in your team 'til your scene pops
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| It might mean wearing jeans 'til the seam pops
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| But don’t wait like Dre did with Detox
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| No hate hinder me, I will clean clocks
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| Like today, I can’t play, I don’t give fucks
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| I won’t change what I say, take your screenshots
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| Yeah, I’m just being me that’s what she wants
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| And this might seem weird cause a dream stops
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| When you wake up but for the sake of
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| Finding peace, no sleep when you dream jobs
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| Now please, go be who you dream of |