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zuò qǔ : Francis |
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Sun set and sun rise |
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I' m my own personal light show |
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Flipping switches. . . moving from basin bottoms to plateaus |
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The Earth. . . manipulates itself beneath me |
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I stand still. . . stagnate. |
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Can' t kill. . . this lagged state |
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Life. . . manipulates itself around me, but |
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I' m dead still |
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Upright. . . but dead still |
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Word is still born. . . |
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I will not stoop to the level of the stoop that y' all chill on |
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If the building' s boarded up and the children of the corn -er |
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Liquor Store don' t want to kick it no more. . . because holes have filled the wall, sneakers are scuffed toes have become sore |
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I saw y' all walk from the hood of tough luck |
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Yeah, if these walls could talk they wouldn' t shut the fuck up |
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Jump in your pick up truck. |
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Drive from the mountain range |
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Cash the chips in on your shoulder, cut your losses, die young, count the change |
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How strange. . . you think these clouds look lovely? |
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Smoke signals. . . manipulate themselves above me |
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No symbols. . . are below me enough to overlook |
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I know you read my every move, |
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I wrote the book |
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Mind not the blemishes that are on my premise. |
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Endlessness is my " to be continued. . . " |
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Notice the nervousness in my footnotes when being interviewed |
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Shaking uncontrollably. " How you doing? " " Not bad. . . how about you? " |
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Brought it right back to me like " What' ve you been up to? " |
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I don' t talk to freaks. |
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I even ignore my neighbors who live down the stairs |
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I walk the streets. |
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And they don' t know that |
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I' m famous in 2000 years |
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So I say shit loud in their ears and |
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I spit a wretched verse in their face. . . |
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Disrespecting their personal space |
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In a split second, curtains and drapes get closed |
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They think they' ve shut me out, but |
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I can see their ugly mouth in the shape of " O" s |
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I' d break their windows with a stone that has a note attatched that says " I hate Jim Crow, and here' s a poem to let you know the haps:" " I' ve got a golden axe and I chop cherry trees down Dead to this world. Bury me now. " |
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I am from a distant place that sits and waits for my belated time to come but its too late |
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I' ve missed my fate. |
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I " F" with the deaf, blind and dumb |
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My father taught me one thing. . . how to fire a gun |
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I don' t bother. . . this is survival for fun |
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I have become the most sinister sin city slicker cynical dim witted trixter critical shit grinning hipster |
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Whisper. . . to my earhole. . . tell me not to be fearful |
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Be careful not to make any. . . sudden. . . movements |
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Show me your sole. . . |
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I like to study shoe prints |
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You' ve stepped to me before! |
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I can recognize them stubby toes! |
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I left them guys with bloody clothes. |
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For a second time. . . nobody knows |
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The pain I' ve seen. |
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Nobody knows the pain |
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I' ve seen |
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Nobody knows why |
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I' ve got a bloody nose or how they made it bleed |
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Chorus: Climb trees. . . go out on a limb |
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To find me. . . forget about him |
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Forget about hymns. . . what are those psalms that you sing |
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What are those songs that are in your head echoing. . . |
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I am not here to make a change. |
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I break chains |
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I break dance moves and move |
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Strange-- |
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Strange Famous is infamous for inflammatory mission statements |
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Living in basements with subterranean secret service agents |
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With little patience. |
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A pediatrician who hate kids |
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Women' s lib is getting choked to death by their own baby bibs |
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Baby, did you know |
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I love women who hate mankind? |
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I talk about it all the damn time. . . . keep it comin' |
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HUH! ! ! " IIIIIIIII HHHHAAAAAAAATE MEEEEEEEENNNNN" |
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Yeah This conversation is mine. |
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I own all the stock in boring small talk, |
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And I' ve trade marked this facial expression called the " gawk. " |
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So fuck off. |
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I dis functions souped by ninjas and hockey fights |
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All them bitches want me tonight. . . |
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I' ve been so great and respectful |
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They only get salty when |
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I bend them into the shape of a pretzel |
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I make them flexible when |
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I break their schedule. |
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It only got hard. . . |
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When I asked ' em politely not to fight me and to give a. . |
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God Damn. . . this is easier than |
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I thought it would be |
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They' ll attend any party and not fight it as long as they' re invited cordially |
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Unfortunately, |
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I' ve only got so many hundred openings |
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But talk to me, |
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I want to take you all under my broken wings |
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Who' s the right man for the job? ! |
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Put up your hands y' all because |
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I' m not tall enough to stand up to |
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God Who' s the right woman? ! |
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Throw up one hand. . . and wave it now |