| «One, two, Freddy’s coming for you
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| Three, four, better lock your door
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| Five, six, grab your crucifix
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| Seven, eight, gonna stay up late
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| Nine, ten, never sleep—»
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| FUCKTHEPOPULATION
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| Pullin' up with the pump, slugs that’ll make you slumped
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| Drugs always keep me numb, wake up in the mornin' just to pop some
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| Bitch, it’s FUCKTHEPOPULATION
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| Bodies in my basement
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| Lord of the forsaken, watchin' bitches fornicatin' (shit!)
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| Lucifer, Beelzebub, Satan
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| Triple six be my language (ayy)
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| Smokin' on something that’s flagrant (ayy)
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| Shootin' up something that’s tainted (ayy!)
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| Raindrops cover my dreadlocks
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| Mood 21 Savage, that Red Opps
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| Might get my face tatted with a tear drop
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| Shell-shocked leavin' bodies on the sidewalk
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| Six days 'till my death, on the seventh, let me be
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| Lower-level dwelling, now the devil rocking FTP
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| Ruby setting trends, but in the end, he wants his breath to cease
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| Leopard print all on his body, body hangin' off the Sphinx
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| Ruby got a plan involving firestorms thinnin' out the herd
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| Ruby got a plan to see the locusts swarm, poisoning the dirt
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| Ruby gonna find his death and flirt
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| Ruby got his motherfucking heart torn, cut up into thirds
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| Ruby got a broken oath, he once swore, take him back to church
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| Ruby bloody fist up her skirt |