| We separate in the center of the city
|
| Trying to get some chili fries late from the flaming guys on demaisy alize
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| stains on my leg smell like five alive
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| Three and goony first crystal boys after drinking
|
| Goldeneye matches
|
| Goldenboy flash cat and mouse stratagem
|
| And trying to get most professional
|
| Cuz bro, im a pro
|
| Sitting in our chairs low, super focused
|
| Sharing little tidbits we noticed
|
| Like chilling in the whip and keeping dry on a gray day
|
| Blazes in the fly faded vintage che faces
|
| Customized tie dyes lurking in the cave like bright eyes
|
| Slurping on the rare key lime shake
|
| Prepared for the rain under evergreen
|
| But it keeps falling on my head like a memory
|
| Tapes from ninety five play breaking up weed
|
| On backside of vida on the back page of
|
| Seventeen magazine
|
| It ain’t us
|
| The ones you want
|
| The ones you want are on the comp playing world of war craft
|
| Nonstop
|
| The ones you want are at the docs office getting diagnosed for
|
| Softness
|
| Bitch we’re not the ones you want
|
| They’re at the salon getting their fingernails polished
|
| And talking like fops and soccer moms
|
| They ain’t legit
|
| They’re at the gym giving each other spots and giving each other jobs
|
| Our mornings are spent like rent you need to pay for
|
| And it feels like nothing we can afford is enough to sleep properly
|
| Warm suddenly without warning these alarms on snooze
|
| I never snore like you don’t
|
| Explete roaring and roll
|
| Stack cereal bowls
|
| Then remind myself to see miracles here mearly breathe
|
| Circles on the dirty hours
|
| Verses under water in the shower whence we emerge
|
| Low flow low powered Spence’s
|
| Cold toes wet, eager
|
| You should see the shrik techniques developed since
|
| Teach tried to get me to work, please
|
| Pen figures red and worn well plus from L’s torn
|
| Knockin on the cellar door
|
| Four score and seven more
|
| Centuries of war, oh well
|
| Probably never let my seeds live, cause the world is similar to hell
|
| My skin feels clammy
|
| We need to make a trip down to miami wearing smiles made of sugar quite nappy |