| Well alright
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| It was once said that uh
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| You can’t stop what can’t be stopped
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| Or uh
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| You can’t kill what can’t be killed
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| You know what I’m sayin
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| We’re gonna give you another Tale From The Sick
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| Cause that is what this is
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| And this here is my boy prozak hailin all the way from from Saginaw, Michigan
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| He is The Hitchcock Of Hiphop
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| Don’t think I hear them plannin, To try to reach the planet.
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| I roll with Strange Music, bitch we carry automatics.
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| To all you hatin' fagets, who wants to start some static.
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| I call me Quick Quick, but clips can make you drip with maggots.
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| No method to this madness, I do this for the thrill.
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| I still do BDM, right now I’m the solo kill.
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| Relax and take these pills, should help to ease those ills.
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| You mind will spin in circles, 'briate your brain stays still.
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| I’m still the same old motherfucker screaming fuck fame.
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| Mob underground and hell and marchin over red flame.
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| So tell me who’s to blame, the planet as a whole.
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| The Corporations gain, now watch the panic grow.
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| See I’ve been down this road.
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| I’m still a million miles from where I’m going.
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| Watcha think of me?
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| Watcha see in me?
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| Who I’m tryna be?
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| And I’m still grindin'.
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| See I’ve been down this road.
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| I’m still a million miles from where I’m going.
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| Who I wanna be.
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| It’s what I’m gonna be.
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| And if you trouble me.
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| I keep ridin'.
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| Pychotic rhymes that show, malotic rhymes that flow.
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| Exploding microphones with schitzophranic episodes.
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| I’m aiming at your soul, you feel the darkness grow.
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| The call me Hitchcock, the modern day Edgar Allen Poe.
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| I love them gothic biches, they be strippin' at my shows
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| I hang with misfits, and wierdos, and also juggalos.
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| Radio stations keep hatin' because of statements I’m makin'
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| like they mistake me for satan, why must I be forsaken?
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| So keep on conversatin', I’m here to haunt the nation.
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| I am the ghost of those who chose pose the Declaration.
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| I’m here to fight for freedom, I’m here to fight for speech.
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| And trust me we can beat them, we own the streets.
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| See I’ve been down this road.
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| I’m still a million miles from where I’m going.
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| Watcha think of me?
|
| Watcha see in me?
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| Who I’m tryna be?
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| And I’m still grindin'.
|
| See I’ve been down this road.
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| I’m still a million miles from where I’m going.
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| Who I wanna be.
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| It’s what I’m gonna be.
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| And if you trouble me.
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| I keep ridin'.
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| This life is critical, these times are biblical.
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| Sin is habitual as these rhyems are political.
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| Some say I’m cynical, some say I’m criminal.
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| Some say I’m heaven sent, behold the spiritcal.
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| Exquisite and spiritual, yeah wicked and lyrical.
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| The source of my material, ok now here we go.
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| Sometimes I wake up screaming and even if I’m dreaming
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| I’m pleading for reasons to belive is this Prozak or Steven I’m weezin'.
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| I’m barely breathin' pleasin these demons I’m self defeatin'
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| I’m freezin' this heathen from perceiving these thoughts that I’m receiving.
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| I feel faint but I’m bleeing I can’t take it
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| I’m leaving is this fate that I’m meeting or these mushrooms I’m eating.
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| See I’ve been down this road.
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| I’m still a million miles from where I’m going.
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| Watcha think of me?
|
| Watcha see in me?
|
| Who I’m tryna be?
|
| And I’m still grindin'.
|
| See I’ve been down this road.
|
| I’m still a million miles from where I’m going.
|
| Who I wanna be.
|
| It’s what I’m gonna be.
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| And if you trouble me.
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| I keep ridin'. |