| The secretive type
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| I like to creep in the night
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| But I speak under my breath to be polite
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| I’m talking about you
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| Unconspicuous keep killing that sweet feeling
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| The mystique’s building
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| I only speak to the freakishly sheep children
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| For some cheap thrill thing
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| I’ll be willing to make purchases on my credit card
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| As long as its of discrete billing
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| I am expected to get murdered by bombs
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| So I open up my mailbox with surgical tongs
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| Rubbing antibacterial paste on my virginal palms
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| Then it gets a little less complex in Oedipus words from my momz
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| I’ve heard of the song by the guy
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| What’s his face who say’s those things
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| I love that song
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| I think its called ambiguity
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| And the music be
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| Handed to you and me
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| In the form of animal cruelty
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| I’m heading to the laboratory
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| To free some mice today
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| Heading back to the lab
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| To prove the skin color of Jesus Christ is gray
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| Impressionable minds have nothing even nice to say
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| Your brain is putty in my hands
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| My man it seems just like some clay
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| See I’m strange
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| I’ll take my time to rearrange
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| Your frame of mind
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| You’ll want to be the Sage wait in line
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| With the rest of them grape vines
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| Swinging idiots
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| You ain’t busting no grape and making wine
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| You ain’t duplicating my rhyming bitch
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| I’m older and dirtier than that bastard baby Jesus is
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| Masturbating penises in an alley way where she just is
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| Thinking that’s enough and it is
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| Asking can I live
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| Is the way these asinine kids imply that they are dead
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| Already they are
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| Get in your car
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| Release the breaks
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| Put it in neutral
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| I won’t steer you wrong
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| This way to the future
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| Follow along
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| Come follow me |