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    This be the dawning of the age of dead water
    Stitchin every b-boy fragment
    Somebody live enough to bust through the belly with a fist up
    This is a right now generation murdered by the fan base
    This is adored by the writers-Dead water
    With a still force activated
    No I'm not feelin alright

    Formed by the village of badness and bad karma
    Punched by the stagnant water gate threw the fickle back
    But by the window's still three nickels in a piggy bank
    Caught her with her head up funny stomach from the hunger pains
    Flashed automatic b-boy with big visions
    In a matchbox apartment adjacent a crooked starship
    Who better nation a million's the only remedy
    Nine dizzy planets with a bullet riding centerpiece
    Take Me Through The Gates
    I'm bout as sick of burning find the hottest slacker in a visionary costume
    Con artist kamikaze conduct
    Warm for a second to the minute he whored herself to disaster
    I recognize the cankers by the mechanical stagger
    As opposed to the skip of big brother bad slapper
    Theologies who need to keep the cookies caffeinated
    Like a mad hatter that'll sleep now, ask after
    Calibrate the happy scale when he's soakin
    Wet with a mouthful of dead ideas and see if it tipped zero
    Stripped ego, tall stories of broad glory
    I'll be god while you're still living life on a full 40
    Or maybe I'll be gramacin, homes poor, broke and lonely
    Hidden by my billygoat beard and cardboard monstrosity
    I drink a bad glass of gumption
    Not bad meaning bad, but bad meaning disgusting
    Wildchild activater activate sludge enough to dungeon for a accolade and wild ones
    I committed wild murder, went through the city
    With a wild merger, woke up in a wildstyle burner
    Space case, boom box, hate tapes, no lemonade breaks (sweat), no cheddar in labor days
    Right now, im here to break a point of big system plus my screen
    I was never cursed in a russmeyer bixon
    Spit sob stories to confront my dick addictions
    Of the dirty basement at the graves of Salem witches
    Driving my stake through the face of painstaking business (checkmate)
    But I scream Misery (better breath take)
    Out of sleep, lifted up lobotomy, little Jackie paper
    And a magic dragon sack of dirty shrubbery
    I'll be the ugliest version of paranoia
    Kingpin set in motion by the secondhand pressure
    Some get excited when the sun folds under
    Some get excited when the summer hits the pavement
    Some get excited when the bullet hits bone and a board
    I'll escape through the train yard and sleep till it's broken

    [same old]

    This be the settling of debt of warm water
    A mobile b-boy function
    Somebody mad enough to cut apart the curtain with a fist up
    This is the dagger in the 88 magnificent memorial
    This is the heater to a movement-dead water
    When I broke fifth and got sparks
    No I'm not feelin alright

    This be the windshear dodgin dead water
    Solitary b-boy wonder
    Somebody fresh enough to reinvent the court with a fist up
    This is the funky outline around a classic breakbeat
    This is an agitated moment-dead water
    With a burnt future, beaten, ugly
    No I'm not feelin' alright

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