| Why hello there
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| Hello
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| Girl, you can find me sleeping at my mother’s
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| Coming home blazed, get gluttonous on a cupboard
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| Sneaking to my room with a female and rubber
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| How things change: the same place I first jerked under covers
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| How pleasant things ain’t: when debt collector got my cell number
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| Hunger for a million summers got me calling out of work
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| Otherwise I’m cooking, wipe my forehead with my shirt
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| My mom never made supper, «Alex, what is dessert?»
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| But what bird could front on a free birch to perch as they learn to live life
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| and adulthood lurks
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| And that’s mediocrity knocking because I’m hardly 2Pac and i do too much talking
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| He’s rocking mics as doubters are mocking him cause they say he burns trees
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| like he hates oxygen
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| But dag nabbit, despite my bad habits
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| You can find me next to Springsteen in your iPod gadget
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| I still got a bad taste in my palette
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| Cause I wonder, «Life, are you gonna go my way like Lenny Kravitz?»
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| And what I tangled web I weave, spitting lies in the eyes of those I deceived
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| But looky here, alas, an emcee so rare
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| With the truth in his face like emo hair
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| And that campground, my mom played Pokeno there
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| Just to afford groceries, to Spose listen closely
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| My rhymes, my pen, my mom, my dad
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| Did they wonder if Maine Med would take me back?
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| My town, my peeps, my past, my weed
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| Procrastination versus my drive to succeed
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| And it’s cyclical when these trees burn
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| I earn cash then turn that to ash like urns
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| But since my dad burst sperm during Reagan’s first term
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| I’ve had no reason to go to the bank
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| And so I’ll die in this here booth
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| Preposterously dank, baby, Spose |