| Cate-cate-categor, cate-categor, category
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| I’m out of category, I’m out of category
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| I’m out of category, I’m out of category
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| I’m out of categor-cate, I’m out of categor-cate (Yeah)
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| I’m out of categor-cate, I’m cate-cate-category
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| He never liked classes, he was always a social cat
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| The cutest kittens forever where he at
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| The rudest men held positions at the flat, momma loved him
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| But momma want a man that help assist with this boy
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| This boy swing and a miss, bright-eyed beautiful lips
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| Pumped with lies, ma stumped and crying
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| But he don’t ever ask why, just kisses ma goodbye
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| Zips his jacket up and goodnight, skateboard or bike like «peace»
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| I’m out of category, I’m out of category
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| I’m out of category, I’m out of category
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| You know why? |
| Cause he dislikes the strife so avoids it
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| Don’t trust teachers cause they don’t trust him
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| Don’t trust motives so he don’t trust friends
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| He can’t tell if most other people cold or just don’t trust black skin
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| Displaced the race card, shuffled the spade
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| Ace into a place where cards stayed blank
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| But not to say without a face, more like a lack of color
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| Not really too certain how to go about a brother
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| It wasn’t always like that though
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| But momma moved him out the gutter to the curb so he wouldn’t wash away
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| He didn’t seem to get that though
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| And momma wasn’t really pulling in that butter so his bread came another way
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| Yeah and if he couldn’t have nice things, fuck 'em, he didn’t even want 'em
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| If he needed 'em, he found a way to got 'em
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| Since everybody doubt 'em, he happily obliged, bide his time
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| Find his little piece of peace at the bottom, like «Fuck y’all!»
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| I’m out of category, I’m out of category
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| I’m out of category, I’m out of category
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| I’m out of categor-cate, I’m out of categor-cate
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| I’m out of categor-cate, I’m cate-cate-category
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| He built his self-esteem up off some tricks
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| Cause even when he matched as far as skin with kids, it seemed they didn’t mix
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| There seemed to be disdain from the kids that clashed colors with him
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| Rebel yelling girls tryn’a make they daddy pissed
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| So ain’t nobody on his buddy list
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| Cause they would probably give him business about the shitty sweater he lives in
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| So he surrounds himself with hope to touch a throne
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| And other people feeling all alone, hold your heart
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| I’m out of category, I’m out of category
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| I’m out of category, I’m out of category
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| When he found punk rock that first time
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| He rode either the nine or eleven bus line, it slips the mind
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| But that way they didn’t need to fit in
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| He asked if he could pull the bell and said «Ma, I wanna be like them»
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| Found his kin, brothers at school thinking tryn’a rewrite skin
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| Other are fools, never seen some shit like him
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| So far he’s been a bitter boy, living like litter
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| No choice, no quitter, so cue the noise
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| Ain’t nothing like a Mohawk to show off your fuck off
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| And kick off the Reeboks for boots to keep the block off you
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| He could see how the re-route of style made the eyebrows raise
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| Not for nothing wasn’t changing for you
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| He’d seen his daddy with a pipe, too young to understand
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| Life ain’t coming from this man holding hands with him
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| He probably didn’t mean to hit him
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| He probably didn’t even mean to plant his seed
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| Is his picture in his wallet with him?
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| He’s thinking probably not, and even so
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| It’s probably rolled up with some coke in it, old and out of focus
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| So nope, the road they chose was not his
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| Nobody will ever be like him, hold your heart
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| I’m out of category, I’m out of category
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| I’m out of category, I’m out of category
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| I’m out of categor-cate, I’m out of categor-cate
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| I’m out of categor-cate, I’m cate-cate-category
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| I’m out of category, I’m out of category
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| I’m out of category, I’m out of category
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| I’m out of categor-cate, I’m out of categor-cate
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| I’m out of categor-cate, I’m cate-cate-category |