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El-P
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Tuned Mass Damper
Lyricist:Jaime Meline
I took this photograph soaking wet After an 8-ball's cataract broke a jazz face threat The same touch to the chest of a young musician He wrote his own eulogy with cocaine hands
Heroin arms, Novocain undies Long since dropped in the room for dead animals Off of the dome, shit I'm off of the phone Off of the couch, off track
I've been OTB with a stub and a heart murmur A flask and a fanny pack, a bastard on any track Come on Daddy needs a new Megatron 'Cause the die cast was metal and blasted his left arm
You should've viewed how it affected John He's an erected brother, choose to burst loose from the black panther Cannon balling from mattresses into puny little fragments Gleaming white under the black light
Well, that's a random journal entry from scissor-hand nostalgia Powers down to transfers to somewhat like the methodology Of bare-knuckle compassion, a train wreck waiting to happen Spelled out in refrigerator magnets G-R-O-W-N-A-S-S-M-A-N
Duckin' his own death threats, we stay fresh, what You microscopic Sally Struthers with a lobster bib Munchin' on white platelets, epiphanies lead battle soprano Come back to dead friends, the hardest way to get sent
You motherfuckers don't have grit You're all teenage poetry, martyrs without causes Move onwards to the pin with this, test Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com Motherfucker, did I sound abstract?
I hope it sounded more confusing than that 'Cause my priority was found Under the arm of an economy-sized mousetrap I dedicate this to Matt Doo, thank you My name is LP, I produce and I rap too
You're not promised tomorrow, you're not promised tomorrow You're not promised tomorrow, you're not promised tomorrow You're not promised tomorrow, you're not promised tomorrow You're not promised tomorrow, you're not promised tomorrow
A bottle rocket, conflicted, I'll throw you a flaming wingnick Looking for a hero's stars, looking for heart in the halls I swear, that lust monkey sweat soaks my balls And this is one step from a junkie living, breakin' in doors
My face low for thermonucleus games Spill rain the open drain, who the fuck is down to steal me some pain I'm feeling ancient with this shit on some capitalist order scripts I'm lit, tryin' to draw this figure eight with a twig
As if the symmetry alone is the prescription to live The rusty touch throughout the tongs are working, plummeting in This is a far cry from the prevalential focus of things Another rally 'round the family until the quota complete
My generation is beautiful, all the rep hold the bliss Wet ears and adjust the mood until my final exit Plus we torture on the traumas in exact moon script Tuned Mass Damper, baby, yeah, that's the shit
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