| Francis Bacon: «studio, it would be absolutely impossible for me.»
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| Interviewer: «Why do you think that is?»
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| Francis Bacon: «Uh, no idea, chaos for me, breeds images.»
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| Should’ve told a lie, but I’d rather keep it real
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| I be to rap what key be to lock
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| He whip the paint, like he beat the pot
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| She quick to faint, and he eat the box
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| He seek the bank
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| My name see, he’s in the lot
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| Love me or not, I’ll bleed out the block
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| Coulda re-rocked the rocks still with me or not
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| But what it all really mean?
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| Going through hell fall asleep off a bean
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| The light everybody
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| What they really want from a nigga like me
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| Couldn’t relate to my peers
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| Now they all asking how can I see
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| You ain’t got it like me
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| Thinkin' bout my dad, having triple beams dreams
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| Days I ain’t eat, quit the theatrics
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| You know why I’m here, thats my baby pediatrics
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| Pedal to the metal, hands blacker than a blacksmith’s
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| Just blew a backwood, just because I
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| Hysterical laughter, grew up 'round Casper
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| Broken homes hood’ll leave you shattered
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| Everybody trappin', thought I was trapped in
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| All I know is how to break it down when the bag in
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| But what it all really mean?
|
| Going through hell fall asleep off a bean
|
| The light everybody
|
| What they really want from a nigga like me
|
| Couldn’t relate to my peers
|
| Now they all asking how can I see
|
| You ain’t got it like me
|
| Thinkin' bout my dad, having triple beams dreams |