Weird lettering on sweatshirts
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You can see me dancing around the quill in the kitchen, to a minimum
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I jump on the minivan and shoot the minibar at myself like a minigun
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And what my friends are doing is a crime
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Wine, women, news, singing
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Status, sleep, morning, rap
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I open their gates
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I open their minds
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Her touches burn me
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I've been burning something for two hours
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You have how to roll in your head
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I have in my head how I fill the halls
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I know, you have friends with you
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I have snakes with me, I don't turn my back on them
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I do everything myself, except for a few things that she loves to do
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I'm not interested in carts while they're fucked, I'm making slag
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My people are tangled again
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Strangers want to call me buddy
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We cook for our people, man
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There's no room on our table, man
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I see their views, how I live, change at seven in the morning
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I can't hear the word anymore, man
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I hear the snake's tongue, I'll cut out the tumor
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Weird lettering on sweatshirts
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Her hands on my tape
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Mine are on bikinis
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She's not afraid I'll disappear in the morning, and she knows I've been here forever
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Number again on the clock
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She's on the duvets again
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And just spam on my phone
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I already know those nights
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Four in the morning, the people around him shine like the light from those lamps
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Hood on the head like a monk
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I've been drunk all weekend
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I can barely have a drink
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I can already hear the drums in my head
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Drums
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And I don't need your gratitude
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I'm sick of that wine
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Red flows like blood
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We fall asleep together and we both have weird inscriptions on the rags
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Then I get up and record the track, one day it'll be like I said
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One day it will be like I said, me
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Weird lettering on sweatshirts
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I see people changing in the morning
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I see the inscriptions on the walls
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I see people changing
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At night I stand in the hallway writing in notes text
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And the inscriptions on the walls, yeah |