| Question: If I died in my apartment like a rat in a cage
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| Would the neighbors smell the corpse before the cat ate my face?
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| I used to floss the albatross like Daddy Kane with the chain
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| I’m trying to jettison the ballast with the hazardous waste
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| The kid is comfortably numb, routine a tedious crutch
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| Steep in a self-imposed Stockholm and Lima in flux
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| Maybe an occupation popular with demons and ducks
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| Made any mingling akin to being seasoned and stuffed
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| It’s a theatre of jumping jellyfish, jealous little sycophants
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| Miserable and flimsy from the skippies to the pissy pants
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| Each one separately convinced
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| They’re sketching with Da Vinci’s hands
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| Delusion turned the communication to prison camp
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| You fucking dorks ain’t a threat to the cause
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| There ain’t a lesson we can learn from the ostensibly lost
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| I think it’s funny when defendants from identical haunts
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| Step out the tempest, a measure of what the spectrum involves
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| Maybe no one cares, party over here, I’ll be over there
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| Don’t need no help, all by myself
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| I used to hang around with rappers at the root of the scene
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| It meant a lot to feel the fugitive community breathe
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| Maybe to sentimentalize is to be truly naive
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| I know some shit about your heroes that you wouldn’t believe
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| I think we’re all a bunch of weirdos on a quest to belong
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| The songs are echolocation up in impregnable fog
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| That’s why it’s odd to see a pile of imperfections and flaws
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| Ascend a pedestal to patronize the rest of the cogs
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| In a mess of obnoxious fantasy, posturing and pageantry
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| I ain’t even mad, I’m impressed, shit it’s baffling
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| God almighty, chop an ivory tower to piano keys
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| Play your own dirge on the way to surfing maggot beach
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| You fuckin' dorks ain’t a source of the art
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| You can’t be cooler than the corners
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| Where you source all your parts
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| The poker-faced, all it takes a couple sordid remarks
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| We let the manticore out, We make the sorcery bark
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| Life is so unfair, party over here, I’ll be over there
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| Don’t need no help, all by myself
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| I view the rattling of sabers like a show to expose
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| Insecurities exploding in emotional code
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| When braggadocio to go from mostly jokey to gross
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| Corrode a homie 'til his probity is notably ghost
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| Before the hobby was a job, he was a miniature hell
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| You would wobble round your momma like an infant gazelle
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| The disillusionment has truly been a difficult pill
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| But you as anything menacing is a difficult sell
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| In a whistle and bell-o-rama
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| Black mollies that dress up like piranha
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| It’s not even compelling melodrama
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| It’s a comedy, somebody wanna shop you as a saga
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| I’m very voluntarily persona non grata
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| You fuckin' dorks ain’t the leaders we need
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| This ain’t the medium for divas out to weasel and breed
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| I’m offin' coffee with the paupers over tea with the queen
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| Don’t make him show the regency what disobedient means
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| Heavy load to bear, party over here, I’ll be over there
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| Don’t need no help, all by myself |