| What if all the bricks that we chipped at perfectly
|
| Turned to notes floating through the wave work, surgically
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| Burgundy, bled into the money green outline
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| And every piece of cement was a reason to get alpine
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| Crazy as we wanted and the horses that the pioneers
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| Showed us that the coachmen weren’t supposed to be in riot gear
|
| I am here, warrior, firebombed orphanage
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| Swatting on the wireless, tire rims forested
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| Doro slim, dangle still, nothin' change, more or less
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| S.O.S. |
| run around, different day, Gorbachev
|
| Sorta gets older, me, I really miss the back and forth
|
| Cameos and campy jokes and listening to Matterhorns
|
| Badder dudes rounded up from midnight until it was noon
|
| Riches rolled to snake with us and mixed in with the bitches brew
|
| Siftin' through the rubble of a wounded man you will agree
|
| Might cause you to Fight Club or just light up like you’re Billie Jean
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| Still it read like Romans since I couldn’t get ahold of you
|
| Meet you out on junction think of something that we both could do
|
| Know the rules, everything, maybe watch the world die
|
| Troopin' through the city got four fifty on the third try
|
| Movin' thru the boomerang, seven string fox noise
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| Can’t wait for the finals or to dial up that Nas joint
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| Convoys callin' us magic in the majesty
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| Your feathered flock of magic moms that never got with gravity
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| All the fallin' choppers that sit on the walls and watch us
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| In the distance of forgotten, I will try to keep my promise
|
| All the fallin' choppers that sit on the walls and watch us
|
| In the distance of forgotten, I will try to keep my promise |