| Adam/Jeff and I go mad to California
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| Penny hunt the first six months
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| Wash, there we stand
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| Three key apartment hemorrhaging in hand
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| They were
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| Teeth clamped
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| To face first
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| You fell into the door
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| They took the doorknob
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| Out, they all feel falling
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| Shattered, fish bowl
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| Rocks out into your mouth
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| Your eyes were huge
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| Taking an airplane home from work
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| We imagined the man hour earth strapped
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| In, in scaffold like skeleton, in numb
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| Knowingness throw that blurs birthdays and background
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| Vocals and mean
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| It’s all a blur waiting for the one on relax
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| Rockstar, rockstar
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| (What else is there?)
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| We’ve been in order through teeth jars and beard fire
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| Smashing out, out our teeth
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| Lest anchorman lip sync
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| Blaring their teeth
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| As soon as nature takes your teeth down to one sheet
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| No music plays in hospitals
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| The sun hit me like black
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| And my wallet sat
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| There with a knife and a fork and a napkin 'round its neck
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| That was my 2/24/2001
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| And i don’t think i like my landlord well at all
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| His crown and hair-filled ear
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| Ooh that’s a dirty rat
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| See, in the post-pension race
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| Your gift wrist-watch sets the pace
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| A half-a-handcuff clock in your junk drawer box
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| They’re items for your time capsule coughing
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| To stack atop your peers
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| All that money made is gone
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| Don’t think it’s real, it’s never there
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| You got a three-piece? |
| (Mmm, quit that shi…)
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| You got a whip? |
| (Nah, quit that shi…)
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| You got a home?
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| Not if we quit that shit
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| We’re new to this burnt star
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| On a door to a floor in space
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| Or should we give it up for
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| Death insurance, work friends, and a smile that’s fake?
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| M-O-N-E-Y is riding on me but this day’s
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| A poem made of glass and some must break
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| You want to feel the other
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| So Wednesday’s empty pocket keeps us in a forty-hour check
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| Linked to a chain gang, grinning (cha-ching!)
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| When people aren’t happy, they want change
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| Somebody might notice us up here
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| Somebody might notice us up here |