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Trees are people too, claim the Soviets. - Tchaikovsky
The sun broke through the mist today
And whisked winter away
And kissed me on the cheek and said
"Don't miss me when I leave this fall,
I'll try and give a call
When all the trees are weak and dead."
So I woke up, and jumped right out of bed
Looked at all the books I've never read
Took you by the hand and shook my head
"No, no, no!"
Oh, there's got to be a better way.
Everything was simple yesterday.
Oh, to think I thought I'd never say
"I don't know".
Everything you love about life
Has its time, its place, and its price
And you know some dark summer night You'll give it up for someone
But hey, OK, that's perfectly fine
Cause everyone knows it's all about time
And I sure try to be careful with mine
The road less traveled isn't old and gravelly
And that little fact has just baffled me.
But there just has to be somewhere
That feels like home
For ignoble souls who crave tragedy.
So when you land feet first don't look around
Close your eyes and hear each single sound
Then perhaps it'll hit you--"Oh there might just be
Someone with romantic tendencies
Humming soft oneiric melodies
Holding my small hand, and endlessly guiding me..."
So if there's a place that we can exist
Away from all this meaninglessness
I'll do whatever it takes to see this one through.
Everything you've ever believed
Is far away, and you're finally free
To be yourself, or maybe someone new.
Cause I've spent so long saying goodbye
That I can't even look in your eyes
But there's no reason to cry when the sky's so blue
Oh and if you think I'm fooling myself
Well, who really cares if I truly can't tell
But if you don't think that I love you, well, I do.
I'm natural like the flowers and trees
Sweet and sour MC
The powers that be
Demand you pay an hourly fee
To holler at me
Or keep rappin' on your own
Women rackin' up the bills tryin’ to catch me on the phone
I keep mackin’-’92 Probe on chrome
Spin the beat back and speak Latin
Rego, rex sum, deffer than Marlee Matlin
Hold the gat like George Patton
If you wanna make it happen
If you wanna test Patrick Warburton,
Don a vest or I’m sure to leave you on the floor hurtin’
American gigolo, singing so rare
Bitches swear that I ghostwrote “The Marriage of Figaro”
I deserve advanced placement
For rhymes so sweet you can taste it
All y’all are basic
Your claims are baseless
I’ve been in the basement for ages
Ever since the ancients took a random series of notes
And rearranged it
Since Michaelangelo made a statue of David
Kick like Asics, more cars than Avis, 31 flavors
Now I may not be as famous as Martin Amis
But if the shit is good, then who gives a fuck what my name is? The song speaks for itself, I keep to myself
Let the records stay six deep on the shelf
Like I said, I gives a fuck if my shit doesn’t sell
I spit for myself
But if you feel it, give me a yell