| Yo. |
| We’re not gonna take it
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| No! |
| We’re not gonna take it
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| We’re not gonna take it… anymore!
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| To all my intelligent motherfuckers
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| (Word! Yo yo, aiiight aiight, peace dunny! No doubt. Peace. Respect)
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| To all my inbred knuckleheads reppin' the culture
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| (Yeah, represent that shit! True. Respect!)
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| To all the clever ass fuckers out there
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| (Shit is real! Shit is motherfuckin' real! Peace!)
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| To all my Swedish Fish
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| (Swim wit me. Holla if ya hear me. Booaw booaw booaw booaw!)
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| Sage Francis. |
| Oh yeah. |
| That’s one of these smart motherfuckers right?
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| Yeah. |
| One of those kids that’ll think ya to death. |
| Hahaha
|
| This Osgood-Schlatters Syndrome in my bones and my knee hurts
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| Must have jumped into an unclean gene pool feet first
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| The rebirth of slick hair
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| With more «Wooo"s than Ric Flair
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| Got me blockin' eyes and ears and the rest of my senses are prepared
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| From the thick air that I breath
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| How did I get here? |
| I believe
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| It’s time to scream, «What's the chime?»
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| They leave no trace
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| Remove the birth marks from your face
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| Being handicapped is a bitch
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| But I’m sick of watching her park in my space
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| How 'bout I hop up on your face and pop this wheely
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| Clutch my stick shift, you gots to feel me
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| Growin' too big for the clown costumes
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| Stupid wig
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| Got self proclaimed vets in the game askin' their dogs, «Who's the new kid?»
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| I say, «Um, I’m 32.»
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| Been here for more than 10 years and never heard of you, so what the fucks your
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| curfew?
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| «Say what? |
| 10 years? |
| God damn?!
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| That’s practically a decade.» |
| and I say, «So, you a math man?»
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| How 'bout we go 50/50 on our friendship
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| They say, «Meet me half way, fuck this 50% shit!»
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| How smart are we? |
| Very smart
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| Received a Valentine’s Day voice mail from Mary Hart and then I passed out
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| Plus the lights were blinking
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| Too much leisure induces seizures
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| I’m blacked out but it looks like I’m thinking
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| Reaching for the ceiling
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| Pulling down the skyline
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| You knew I was around
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| Once I broaden your horizon just to show you the night time
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| Captain Kirk beam me back to Price Line
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| And buy my ticket out of the pop culture
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| There’s no intelligent life to find
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| I’m off the meter, off the hook, I’m off-line
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| Frankly I’m awful
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| So underground, I need an oxygen tank and snorkel
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| Untrying
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| To the simple minded, plain and normal
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| One time
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| Take me Lord, make me mortal
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| Yeah, to all my intelligent motherfuckers
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| (Let's build! Respect respect. Shit is real B! Yeah, respect!)
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| Peace to all my headcrackin' melon bruisers
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| (Ayo, aiight aiight. No doubt. Get this money yo!)
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| Respect to all my dumb bitches
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| (True. My shit is real ho. Respect. Respect. Ha. Yo. True.) |