| Writer’s block, sometimes it’s no use
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| I think and I try, but I’m dry, no juice.
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| But I’ve got a little secret for knocking the flow loose
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| When I can’t write, I eat produce.
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| Yes, I eat fruit when I’ve got the writer’s block
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| or I eat veggies when I’ve got the writer’s block.
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| You could unlock the tightest lock
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| If you eat produce, it helps you produce.
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| Sometimes when I try to make art, I choke.
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| So to counteract that, I’ll eat an artichoke.
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| Green cabbage yes, red cabbage no,
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| 'Cause red means stop, but green means go.
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| Watermelon stimulates me if I can’t get my lines written
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| 'Cause the seed spitting simulates rhyme-spitting
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| I eat broccoli, bok choy and avocoado.
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| No room for block, just broc, bok and guac
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| Or I’ll combine kinds of fruits that rhyme:
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| Persimmons, lemon, limes, clementimes
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| cherries, various berries, apples, pinapples,
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| apricots, plus plums and kumquats and pears with green skin
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| and Tange-'s and Necta-'s they’re the -rine twins.
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| I grind them up in that blender of mine
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| Drink down the juice and write some fruit punch lines. |
| Snap peas for my battle rap steez,
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| First I’m like «Snap!» |
| then I’m like «Peace.»
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| Or I eat a radish if my rhymes aren’t fully radical yet, only rad-ish
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| If I’m in a bad mood, canteloupe
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| And honeydew helps me keep a can-do attitude.
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| And when the song is complete, then I eat my two favorite root veggies
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| The turnip, the beet.
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| (Turn up the beat x3)
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| Blank pages as white as chalk, I got nothing coming out
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| Like when people with bronchitis try to talk, writer’s block.
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| And I hate it when my brain is in a constipated state
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| And that is why I eat all that high-fiber produce,
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| I’m in favor of dropping those creative number two’s
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| I’m saying, I’m pro-duce. |