| From now until my physical frame is in the dirt
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| I’ll stalk at night, live what I write, edit the height, thoughts
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| Of place, familiar place trying to remember
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| House party in the Brook in the middle of December
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| Grilling my chick, all in her face like, «You the shit»
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| When I told you, «Back the fuck up,» you rose your gun up
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| Now you one-up, and I knew this time will come around soon
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| When I will see you in a place where you wouldn’t expect
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| You on the express line with burgers on your mind, call
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| Me the burglar because I stole you from the blindside
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| Dug in your holster, you didn’t think I’d pop up like a toaster
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| Should I roast ya? |
| Never flash—if you do, rock a vest
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| If Shabaam had have went to the police, none of this would have ever happened
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| Now they
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| Got me locked for gun-clapping, face-smacking, causing action
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| In the burger spot (Did it turn into a murder plot?)
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| Nuh uh
|
| You should have known better
|
| You!
|
| You should have known better
|
| You!
|
| You should have known better
|
| You!
|
| You should have known better
|
| It’s always one thing or another. |
| Devils
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| Been pushing buttons, too much pressure to stomach
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| Still can’t believe you really done it. |
| Shed tears
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| Shed fears, ran up the school stairs, spray
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| Eight classmates by the side gates—take that
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| Payback for all the years perceived inferior
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| Ashamed to look in the mirror no longer, headlines
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| Say, «Five Teenagers Are Goners,» cops lurk on every
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| Corner. |
| Can’t figure right from wrong, you’d shoot your momma
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| If she tried to stop ya. |
| Gotta do what you gotta except
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| You should not have in the first place, gonna pay the price
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| In the afterlife, going to a bad place. |
| Twice cursed
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| Once at birth, the second with the first mortal sin
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| Committed on Earth when you searched your soul. |
| You know
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| You’re worth respect and matter. |
| Losing control ain’t the key
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| To making your reputation fatter
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| Being somewhere you don’t need to be
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| Doing something you don’t need to be doing
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| Saying something you don’t need to be saying
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| You get your ass ruined. |
| You should have known better
|
| You should have known better
|
| You!
|
| You should have known better
|
| You!
|
| You take
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| A dark walk through the park, you spark rhymes
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| To keep your lonely company. |
| OK, it’s
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| Payday, and your pockets are lumpy. |
| You’re like a dead man
|
| Walking with your Walkman all the way up to ten
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| And then, all of a sudden, the light goes out
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| You’re like, «What's that all about?»
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| Your shook ass starts to shout, shook on lyrics
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| Queens killers ain’t got no feelings
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| You’re not prepared for the up-and-coming dealings
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| The sound of crunching leaves got your ass sprinting
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| Through the bushes, a new way out you’re inventing
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| You’re constantly killing yourself, you’re not the one, but there’s
|
| An owl in a tree, and he’s like, «If not you, well, then who?»
|
| Ungodly speed has gotten into you
|
| You came to a fence, it was a simple leap
|
| You ended up on the roof of a parked Jeep
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| Now the hood was dented, window tinted, face was on the glass
|
| The couple humping inside jumped out and kicked your ass
|
| You should have known better
|
| You!
|
| You should have known better
|
| You!
|
| You should have known better
|
| You!
|
| You should have known better |