| She was my bank of insecurities
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| I was a bag of immaturity
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| She was the Vicodin curing me
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| Yo, why do I make this shit sound like a eulogy?
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| They were the badges of my purity
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| But they became the barriers skewing me
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| From the path that I chose willingly
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| And still my wrath weakens me currently
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| But I’ve got a goal, so I can’t waste time
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| Man I’ve got to go, crossing obstacles
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| Not for profits, or products from a Prada store
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| Nor pride, or a prize like a pot of gold
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| My daddy went to Oxford
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| He made a lot of money
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| He thinks I’ve used him for it
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| That’s what he’s told my mommy
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| And that’s what mommy told me when I told her that I’m leaving to America
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| Pursuing my dreams, your son’s a demon
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| But I ain’t mad at y’all, we’re incompatible
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| Choking on the adderall
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| Smoking dope, the grass is tall
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| Weaponized delusion til the truth is hard to recognize
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| Spinning it out of control, beholden to this web of lies
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| Peter Parker picked the path, now pay the toll
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| Paint a proper picture packaged by the promise in a soul
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| Pat the pockets, pack the bowl
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| Then back to practicing, to grow
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| The passion acting like it’s rationed
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| That’s a tad irrational
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| But that’s the goal
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| In fact it’s half the actual
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| Battle, get up, rattle off
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| A billion little addled thoughts till it’s over
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| Make a spot to wind down
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| Break it off of right now
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| And get closer
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| To building bridges from the bricks of the decisions that exist
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| But it’s no sure
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| Things sing songs about the same dreams long before we came
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| Seems all these labels playing with the psyche
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| The fortitude that’s forged is due to facing the unlikely
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| Shit, I don’t even know what that means
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| Yeah, that’s all I got to say |