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    Raw, I'm going to give it to you
    With no trivia
    Raw like that Aesop rock iron-fisted list militia
    While bent funny bone grown community
    Spit a thousand and 1 ripples to cripple the continuity
    Tap water builds character
    Right I irrigate it straight to mainline
    You want to do the same? Fine
    These pretty profit grommet teams solidify the clot to slippery city salt piston pump drain
    But hold those incredible console with the Russian roulette baboon spin-off
    Where everyday a thousand strangers pray for empty chambers
    One-sixth buckle
    Five Sixths sweat bullets trying to keep it subtle
    But I'll get you (I'm going to get you)
    Wobbly rope bridge
    Broke inches tired of dry land
    But duck skull stepping-stones suit the mix-down well
    Well, when the rumor spreads that y'all stupid
    I'll be the cat with guilty look on face and shirt that reads: I didn't do it!
    Is it on, is it beyond basic
    Does it ice grill you or is every song faceless?
    Does it have a title? If didn't would you name it?
    Does it babble about nothing like a drunken atheist?
    We could run that Orwells '84 war
    For the room 1 on 1 z-tour
    Till he try and fidgets with his or her own work spear specifics
    Swerve around the cobra kisses
    See if the venom overloads this vision
    I'm going to suck the poison out and spit it
    Stole my sneakers but your features never fit in
    Servers you right for trying to walk a mile outside your limits
    I'm going to tiptoe across this yo-yo string
    Until you walk the dog out from under my feet and skip town, sit down

    It goes boom boom boom

    Earth to a-r vertical burden has increased at an alarming rate
    Bliss is down a point
    Murder up, glee down and still falling
    Still crawling out of bed at 2 on Saturdays
    Came this blind soldier-burning confessional
    Ease back; let a heart thump echo normalcy for 10
    Let the back burner boiling point descend
    I race the derby in the first heat (strike personal)
    Strike personal space with the most utterly putrid version of grace
    Spit the gimmick, sit and fidget
    While we try and jump through hoops
    Like Coney Island freak show midgets
    Want to be a fighter pilot
    Driving that childish early Wright brothers experiment
    Prototypic model fossil
    Sit and sweat bullets on a console
    Busting accidental dirt bike donuts
    Outside the most ridiculous poison tongue brain silo
    Dead before the chubby debutaunt conquered the high note
    Schooled by the cruel intention inventions pensive sideshow
    See contrary to popular certainty
    I alone advance without an earthly poem
    And dance on a handful of zoning fans
    Holding every chance to own the land I roam
    With dome in hands
    Truly be it's only camper happy with the scrap heap
    See I convinced myself it's on
    Therefore it is and the melody settles
    Beneath the fact that I'm just spitting for these kids
    I tried to get them all open
    And once I quit and said I didn't care
    That's when they all threw their hands in the air

    It goes boom boom boom

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