| Nah, ayo no it ain’t E
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| It’s the skinny man shaped like a lowercase b
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| Pushed the mini-van with the stow away seats
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| He’s used to hearing three words «Go away creep»
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| Some bean curd, a scone and braised beets
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| For the insomnia that leaves him prone to day sleep
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| At the brothel nigga known to stay cheap
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| Don’t want to pay an arm and a toe to spray skeet
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| Sheet, the Doppel plan to kill spree
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| That ensures posthumous love like Annabel Lee
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| Psh! |
| Say damn if you agree
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| Perhaps mull it over with some chamomile tea
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| You see, you can ask his trustee
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| Just never mind the scent that he bask in, musty
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| Or him popping nexium for three months
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| And still sober as day but acid reflux free
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| Ayo Brut cologne along with the accoutrement
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| Keep two poems and a suit in Rome
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| A new tooth made of chrome
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| Aloof from the youth, uncouth to the bone
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| Pen it, the vandals are demented
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| And for the last time, no the candles not scented
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| Panhandle, cause scandal up in the senate
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| Known to quote a rhyme, but he rambled when he read it
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| Dead it, you third 'em how we hate 'em
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| Who peep a new verbage and speak 'em verbatim
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| No birds were to date him
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| Never did occur that they slurred and degrade him
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| What you concur from the datum
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| Plot the raid, invade, absurd ultimatum
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| Observe, drop turd then berate em
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| No superfluous words heard then you fade em |