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Feb 2012
Strobe lights, low eyes, blown mind
Four Eyes, neck ice, blown white, no mind
Nice cars, dark fade, night games, insane
I swear this place has no ******* life
And that's exactly how I want it
Room spinning, wheel of fortune
Fortune favored me, so my shackles gold, I am tortured
The tour bus tore us from our exposure, to life
Bass booming, ear drums popping off like a hundred guns
Saluting troops with marching bands, they all cheer in unison
My pains boo'd off by my pill prescriptions
Not a nun, cause we are ******, struck by Smith's arrow
Rock stars chose the path that is most narrow
I don't know where the time went, my mind set
This bombs clock ticks, I die inside on the pursuit of profit
The prodigal son grew up to be a villain
Stuck in the streets, struck so his sins can't be forgiven
Swear this devil is sleeping with finer women
Designer linen, Hermes, Versace, Givenchy
Italian names with a tendency to stop me
But me stopping would lead traffic jams
Tank is empty, can I make it, not sure if I can
Hop out the driver side, you can keep this whip
Wasted all my life, dreaming big, window shopping
Franco Palma
Written by
Franco Palma  Worcester, MA
(Worcester, MA)   
1.5k
 
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