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(Sims) |
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I keep my heart to the sky, I keep my ear to the ground, |
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Knowin them vultures can circle yeah but their's poachers around, |
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So I fly low, barely an inch above the surface, |
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Lie low slice a serpent on a branch and still have sight to chop the rat, |
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Id love to stop and chat stay and chew the fat, |
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But if youve seen the view from my shoes you knew I gotta move, |
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Stakes is high but I got walls to paint and slates to wipe, |
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Theirs work for the young critic and Ive been known to build without a permit, |
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So dont mind me as I breeze on through, runnin on fumes like a neon tube, |
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I get no sleep and Im in so deep I cant ignore the bottom, |
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But you cant blame the seed for what the forest taught 'em, |
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So cut em up, head em off at the plot, let em drop like leaves in the treason |
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