| Here’s a mass manufactured soundtrack for the rapture
|
| For the sheep being herded deep inside the pasture
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| Play your role, the relationship is slave and master
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| So who’s the shepard with the cane that you’re running after
|
| And follow blindly
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| Like many hollow minds behind me
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| Who think the piercings and the nappy ass fro define me
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| And seek identity in trends the media sends nightly
|
| Fight the influence? |
| Unlikely
|
| Though they might be swayed
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| By alternative viewpoints played
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| If repeated several thousand times a day
|
| Now a new trend has been instituted
|
| Jump on it quick, don’t talk shit if you’re truant
|
| It’s the new style, new thug, new drug
|
| But really it’s the same old shit in a different outfit
|
| But I doubt it really matters
|
| Ideas stored on a stack of rotating platters
|
| Make your reality out of binary data
|
| A major promo campaign later
|
| And it’s the subject of all idle chatter
|
| Sheepish
|
| Sheepish
|
| Sheepish
|
| Sheepish
|
| Sheepish
|
| Sheepish
|
| Sheepish
|
| Sheepish
|
| And just like that, you’ve been duped
|
| The chain was a fake
|
| The label rented the coupe
|
| Those bomb ass models only showed up for the loot
|
| And once they get paid that fool might not recoup
|
| But the image won’t diminish the established baller status
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| That you receive daily on your viewing apperatus
|
| The biggest and the boldest
|
| The best and the baddest
|
| You see 'em in the street
|
| And the whole illusion shatters
|
| But still the faithful won’t wait 'till the scheme’s been exposed
|
| And stand idly by as their dreams decompose
|
| As one scene dies
|
| Another scene grows
|
| The sheep flock to it and thus the cycle goes
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| On into eternity
|
| Until you eventually
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| Learn to be comfortable within your own identity
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| Be the epitomy of individuality
|
| Or follow the herd
|
| And swallow the hollow words
|
| Sheepish
|
| Sheepish
|
| Sheepish
|
| Sheepish
|
| Sheepish
|
| Sheepish
|
| Sheepish
|
| Sheepish |