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I'm seconds from meeting with the minds berg had to offer |
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And feed my thoughts to Christ to the altar |
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I wake up on a red floor, axin' a dead whore |
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My dick chewed up, why I let this bitch give me head for |
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Pigs tryin' to kick down the door, I'm out for me |
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Opened the slidin' glass door and hopped off the balcony |
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Fell 30 flights to close on 10th hour |
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Landed on a FedEx disguised meth lab and after it blew up |
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I woke up and threw up, stuck my hand in my pants |
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My shit ain't chewed up |
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Wiped the puke from my face, then leaved this place |
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With a 4-5 in the waist at an elitist pace |
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No breeding space, I step out and show face |
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Within 3 minutes, I'm approached for H |
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Then a shotgun to neck, now lose the weapon |
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And my scull fragments painted the sky for seconds |
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Back to my brain like my brain is a home |
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While, I roll with the fame, I still aim at the throne |
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All my peers all sleep and I'm the only one not weak |
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Or am I unconscious dreamin', I'm makin' a speech |
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Is this reality or my memory getting mileage |
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Am I starin' at the sun or blood vessels in my eyelids |
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Do I make music, or is music making me |
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Is this really all death or just my awakenin' |
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I pick my head up, with a face full of drool |
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Look around the classroom, now I'm some geek in high school |
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Get fucked with in the hallway and can't do, shit |
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But write names on bullets and fill a few clips |
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No need for rags and vodka, got a locker |
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With enough fire-power to war with helicopters |
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First click to pass, I'm clicking to release |
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Each adolescent fist holding 4 police killers |
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And I ain't paying for the clips I'm spendin' |
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When I shoot up the crowd like a herion convention |
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Feds storm the building for the sick boy with balls |
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Made of steel, put shit through toilet stalls |
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See my teachers dead through holes in the door |
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And alerted the cops outside, holdin' the floor |
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I exit the bathroom, enter a vet parade |
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Getting shot the fuck up but smoke some pigs on the way |
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Back to my brain like my brain is a home |
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While, I roll with the fame, I still aim at the throne |
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All my peers all sleep and I'm the only one not weak |
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Or am I unconscious dreamin', I'm makin' a speech |
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Is this reality or my memory getting millege |
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Am I starin' at the sun or blood vessels in my eyelids |
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Do I make music, or is music making me |
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Is this really all death or just my awakenin' |
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I open up my eyes to get cracked in the face |
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Six times, while I'm asked for combos to a safe |
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My wife on the couch, dying, raped, in shock |
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While the gunmen argue on where to take the yacht |
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Assuming I'm rich, playboy bitch, my own boat |
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And if I don't start speaking, I'ma lose my throat |
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They start chumming the water with my dead hoe and laugh |
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Force me to see great whites snapped on the lower half |
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Locked off my arm, do it in, no guns to shoot |
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Think of 3 past deaths and find an escape route |
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All I have to do is wake up, lift the mast |
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And get shot off the boat and my back to get whipped in half |
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I wake up screamin' with a shotgun in church, feenin' |
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To kill myself, but I don't know if I'm still dreamin' |
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50-50 chance I'ma die and go straight up |
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Or straight to hell, either fuckin' way, I'ma wake up |