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"**** me!" [Aesop Rock:] |
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Two shoes chewed up, colluded with the feuds, rogue, veterans |
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Food, clothes, medicine |
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Wheeled it out the smoke stack factory trained to capture in the zoo's ghost predators |
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Food, clothes, medicine |
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I think I thunk a bunk colony could possibly amuse grown delegates |
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Food, clothes, medicine |
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Peace, the whipper-snapper generation greet 'em with a full blown pistol pull |
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Food, clothes, medicinal |
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Variety, for every plastic orange bottle |
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The tarnished pharmacy labels chafed in abrasive pockets |
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Suit the hell hounds with blades and chain lengths |
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For the dead walk a little less clumsy than you think |
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Hunger pain, chump change tell it to how his belly get |
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When bourgie hopes hellions, |
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Food, clothes, medicine, alumni, |
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Bum, I got the skin on the teeth between my fingertips and stellar |
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Let's bet it melts together |
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Let's get these men some shelter |
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Three hots and a cot with |
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Quaaludes |
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On a pillowcase left on an ultimately cordial gesture by the staff, (Staff) |
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It's a bath house for brave soldiers |
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When they coordinate to fornicating whores in maid's clothing |
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Sip a hot mocha, kick-up-chug up to the apple box, |
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Frankie says, "Relax", 20 says he snaps, safe wager, |
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Hell, 90 percent sensitive jubilee, |
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Never returned to brag about that fish bigger than you and me |
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Walk on glass, cruise cloaked residents |
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Bang on doors, food, clothes, medicine |
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United we stand to all our parties click, |
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I divide and conquer cause frankly |
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I'd rather sit |
|
We saw them rat races, machine or man, sprocket or fat laces |
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Hatchback of flashbacks from a heyday full of bad blazers |
|
Now Major |
|
Aes route the following order |
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To all his crew's chromed generals, |
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Food, clothes, medicine. |
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Walk on glass, bang on doors, |
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Talk all trash, hang on whores |
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Walk on cash, bank on wars, |
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Like food, clothes, medicine, it's yours |
|
It's yours, it's yours, it's yours [Aesop Rock:] |
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We role tape protocol on a ring finger neighbor to peruse gross negligence |
|
Food, clothes, medicine |
|
Martyrs leak faster if the carver tweaks the dagger, 90 moves choked citizens |
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Food, clothes, medicine |
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Well y'at's a quick example accept as commitment's castle, cool, dope, excellent |
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Food, clothes, medicine |
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It's tough to legislate when scum tongue down a dinner plate of booze, coke, heroin ... |
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I'll bite the hand that feeds |
|
Chew the steak and spit the knuckles back |
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Stitch 'em up and give em dap, before his brother's rubberneck |
|
Iron chef |
|
Lithuania christen kitchen stadium |
|
With chicken and mass serotonin drifting into gravy-dom |
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Save me some, scallywags hold your breath |
|
The curmudgeon's gun dusty like the road to death |
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Bag a pin stripe my lizard kisser no kill switch, |
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Just a guilty gizzard wanna recommend a pill slip |
|
I wipe placenta off my face in the height of the disco era |
|
Cruise through liquid bubble gum, fever, death, and |
|
Christmas sweaters |
|
Through juice saccharin fast food studied holdin' cliff's notes vendors |
|
Now holds a bachelors in training ninjas to tip toe better |
|
These are them sham city kidney kicks to the loose bolts |
|
Belly ache-killins for claim who stand iffy on food, clothes, medicate |
|
Pollywog, hug a spot lit with bigger lizards |
|
In the land of hot milk and honey with stingers in it |
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Zinger! Jimmy to jist up, check ya tip cup |
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Mother's watching babies near to preachers keen on fist ****s |
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Keep your schnoz clean, ears open, chopper zipped up! |
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Food, clothes, medicine, cause hungry, naked, sick, sucks! |
|
Collide with worker ants, with autobahn inertia dance, |
|
And curb them harp love bugs by the cursive final curtain clamp |
|
Another savior with his foot, cold, stuck in his mouth |
|
I played that who knows, food, clothes, **** it, |
|
I'm out Walk on glass, bang on doors, |
|
Talk all trash, hang on whores |
|
Walk on cash, bank on wars |
|
Like food, clothes, medicine, it's yours |
|
It's yours, it's yours, it's yours |
|
Food, clothes, medicine |