| Got beans in the pot, hot dogs on the griddle
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| Five dollar merlot, we call it Merlittle
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| I spend time tripping when I’m red wine sipping, b
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| Me? |
| I think I came to an epiphany
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| Got beans in the pot, hot dogs on the griddle
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| Five dollar merlot, we call it Merlittle
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| I spend time tripping when I’m red wine sipping
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| Red tint got things looking different, check it
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| My future’s never been bright nor clear
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| So I don’t wear shades, I just buy more beer
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| Every January first I say this is your year
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| As I stare at the medicine cabinet door mirror
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| But this year, the face looking out
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| Had a little smile on the side of its crooked mouth
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| And I knew it just as soon as I had seen it
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| That this time this motherfucker really did mean it
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| So I took it to heart and played my part
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| And made the right moves for the forward progression of my art
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| So now without no shame
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| This time next year I’ll be a household name
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| I’m serious, I’m about to travel around the world spitting
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| Getting nastier than having anal sex while the girl’s shitting
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| You just pictured that visual? |
| Didn’t you?
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| Isn’t that proof that what I spit was true?
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| I take your brain further than it ever thought of going
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| Mixing a Christopher Nolan vision with the art of flowing
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| I never thought of blowing up overnight
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| I sit at home and write with a smoking pipe just to cope with life
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| So don’t ask me why I ain’t got signed yet
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| Ask yourself if you’ve opened up your mind yet
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| Ask Apple if they’ve invented the iPhone 9 yet
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| Ask Stephen Hawking to explain why we haven’t traveled time yet
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| The future’s wide open, a fact that combats any suicidal notion
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| The Rap Book for Dummies? |
| I just threw inside the ocean
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| And replaced it with the basic rules of making music
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| Strictly by the most internal, instincts I got
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| Compose things verbal that my circle within thinks are hot
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| Besides music ain’t much more that I got
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| That’s why I’m writing and recording a lot
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| Man, cause I don’t know how my life’s gonna end, brah
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| Probably sipping Svedka in a Sentra
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| I don’t pretend to be something I ain’t
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| Til the picture of myself is a saint
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| Ain’t a picture that I paint
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| The red dripping down the leg of an artists’s easel
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| The blood flowing through the brains of the smartest people
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| The apple Eve bit from that started evil
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| A darker hue of the fish guts for the sharks and seagulls
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| In the haystack, I’m the sharpest needle
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| You were left way back, we are far from equal
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| Attaboy, you’re kindergarten repeating
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| I’m Adam, boy, I’m in the Garden of Eden
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| So tell the devil that the apple ain’t enough
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| Unless he puts something in there to get me really fucked up
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| MDMA in the core of it
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| And I be fucking Eve til she can’t take no more of it
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| First time for everything, every single orifice
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| And she be trying to keep the noise like there’s an ordinance
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| Set the coordinates, hit the gas, punk
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| We ain’t gonna stop unless the order is from NASA
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| It’s like me and Herbs filled out a form to get the cash, brah
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| Money for knowledge, you would of sworn it was FAFSA
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| Get your student loan believe
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| We at a level most humans won’t achieve
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| We doing shit that people do in only dreams
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| And I ain’t talking bout the pretty shit on the screens
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| I’m talking about actual self-fulfillment
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| Dreams you imagined manifested into real shit
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| Dreams you feel with the core of your soul
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| Dreams you’ve had since you were four years old
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| Dreams you’ve had that kept you warm when it was cold
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| That one glimmer of hope that good fortune’s down the road
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| My father wanted an abortion I was told
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| All he left me was this dream and I’ve morphed it into gold
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| There ain’t a fucking thing in life that I can’t accomplish
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| There ain’t a fucking mind on earth that I can’t astonish
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| The promised land is not really a land that’s promised
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| To get there you got to bear hug anacondas
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| Swim through a pool full of sharks and piranhas
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| We get there? |
| We gon' bubble on some Scantron ish
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| To summarize what I’ve said
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| Self-doubt's only something in your head
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| So when it’s all over and I’m dead
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| Write my epitaph… in red |