| Yo, I wake up make a K-Cup then I blaze up, shave with a razorblade
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| My hat is still crooked
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| I’m reading a book and
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| My body was made in Maine
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| Man, I’m still deflecting all the bill collectors
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| And I hate when they say my name
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| My buzz would be massive
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| If I wasn’t slacking and
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| Jerking to Jayden Jaymes
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| Celtics sticker
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| On the bumper
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| Of a clunker
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| But my vocals real
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| Fuck rap. |
| I might sell my mic and buy a snowmobile
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| I can’t relate to throwing money when she makes it clap
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| I can relate to doing dishes. |
| We should take a nap:
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| Tired like Michelin of your wrists when they’re glistening
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| We don’t want no yacht to float but just a boat to go fishing in
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| Man my whole yard is a minor mess
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| Go hard till my dying breath
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| Owe bars to the IRS
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| We got no Rs in our dialect
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| Me and my peeps speak a different kind of speech
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| Where Verizon 4G don’t reach
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| (Can you me now?)
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| Coming live from where mill towns are still towns
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| Even though they shut the mills down
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| But I’m feeling like the King of Maine
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| The King of Maine
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| Wear a seal-skin jersey to the Sea Dogs game
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| I’m the King of Maine
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| The King of Maine
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| Plow truck all gold never hydroplane
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| I tell em: Welcome to 207.
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| Welcome-Welcome to 207.
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| Welcome to 207.
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| Welcome-Welcome to 207.
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| It’s the way life should be: everything’s pleasant
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| Tell 'em: this-th-th-this is 207.
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| Hey, hey, I heard the news in the street
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| That we’re the shit and you’re the pubes on the seat
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| Even though I triple bogey that par 5
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| Rangoon with my mai tai
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| Steal another motherfucker’s WiFi
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| Got Texas Pete on my Five Guys
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| I’m back
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| Facts: spit a little bit but I never made a gat go cap cap pap
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| But my backpack on and I’m smoking
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| Being homeless is bogus
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| So paying bills is my motive
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| Can’t afford G4s I’m poor on tour in a worn '04 Ford Focus
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| Ayup
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| I know that this weed might be the death of me
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| but I got this «O"broke up like it’s parentheses
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| I’m yellin ayup
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| I weigh a buck forty still but when my finger tips touch the quill
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| I’ll be feeling like I’m Paul Pierce and I’m Rondo
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| I’m John Deere and I’m John Doe
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| I’m the rap star from the back yard who never acts hard or went half-heart
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| I’m the Peoples Douche:
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| AKA The Truth
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| Everytime that I get in the booth I’ll be feeling like
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| I’m from the 420 minus 213
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| I’m on the throne if you’re looking for who to unseat
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| I got mooseblood in my goblet
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| Lobsters in my optics
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| I’m live on the map
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| Where the dudes don’t rap
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| In the Altima black who I do go past
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| Come hop in
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| Find me chillin in Rockland
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| where the townies sell oxies
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| So the coroners got coffins
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| It’s my fault my paid because of what I say
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| I rock it for a profit pockets fat as Paul Lepage
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| Got a tattoo on my arm that says «Don't Stop»
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| Cuz other guys told me otherwise when we talked
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| I told em Wells, Maine what the sign say
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| Where I go ape with my primates
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| Rhyme great
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| 16s like 2 times 8
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| Wine grapes and prime steaks
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| Damn I’m feeling marvelous
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| Had a hand with no good cards in it that I parted with
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| I’m an artisan
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| I think you’re an amateur
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| Kids, cops, janitors
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| All pull out their cameras
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| When I walk out of Hannaford |