| Vocals are extra loud
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| Thanks, Jessie!
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| Here!
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| What I’m saying’s intangible!
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| Get smokes… we ain’t got bodegas, we got gas stations
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| Choke, steady rock, ready for whatever pops
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| Split the surface like machete chops
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| Better lost anyway
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| Okay
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| Slash fast getaway, crash whatever path
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| And stop whether it’s caskets or gas hits, last drops
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| I’ll stash whatever math I’ve added in a basket and bury it
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| You let 'em pull the wool, I pull the chariot
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| Faster, lungs like California raisins
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| Singing some type of blues version of «Search and Destroy»
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| I’m talking Stooges, weathered tissue and bruises
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| Iggy «Raw», respect or step back, cute (is what we aim at)
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| Haha, aw, forget- hah-
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| I’m on some Ichabod Crane raps
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| Scared of the headless gaps in any audience
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| Maps exactly where I’mma bucket a whole frame
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| Knuckles up, the ruler’s coming to measure
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| The rudiments of your struggle by the inches, quit bitching
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| Keep building, sheep sleep still
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| Shepherds don’t peep dreams, reach till it’s real
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| Thoughts breach seams on a 59/50 clipped bill
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| Keep the uniform wrecked, trends kill
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| Necks bend still when I step, bend steel when I flex
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| Head kneel to the next, near never
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| No kings ever, nope, sever all that
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| Just a hair too abrasive for a nation on soft
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| Dirty when the style ain’t
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| Bringing that bomb squad density when irate
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| Digging in the crates full of sodium nitrate
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| Like, «tss-» Ow! |
| Burn up my fingertips
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| Roof’s on fire. |
| Fine, just let me get in
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| And find a good place to sit, it’s fucking freezing out
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| Who’s got a cigarette?
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| Who’s got an Ove' Glove and a hard hat for me?
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| All I got is dirt on the jeans, ash in the cuffs
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| Scuffs on the skate highs, keep 'em laughing at us
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| Trust that I keep- tch- that’ll land in your guts
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| If your touch is not welcome, pacified pacifist seldom
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| Someone took the nook, keep yelling on 'em
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| No telling what’ll happen if you pass the fifth
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| And keep your flash pasteurized, mines like fresh outta the tit
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| Ick, Schick sharp, shards for darts, promise of skill
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| Arms up, guard your heart, f’real
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| High crime, low art, protect your neck
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| Face sparks to the- (Oh my god!)
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| No time to waste
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| Take down, clowns in the fake crowns
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| Sound the loud siren, get off my island
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| Doomtree consume the loose silence
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| Fill it to the top with the «digguh-digguh-digguh-digguh» live shit |