Música,
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Sam (Is Dead)

Tyler, The Creator

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Sam (Is Dead)

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This life is a game if you wanna playCounting all your own mistakesLiving it with no delaySo fast I'm getting growing painsFather didn't show me my instincts to take the open laneI go insaneAll the problems come with my growing ageBlowing haze tryna clearthe doubt that's sitting on my brainI don't complain but the kid inside me'sfeeling so restrainedGotta stay goldenLet desire rekindle the flameSearching for the Fountain of YouthWhen I'm free in my brainBring in the hornsYou hear that fucking brassThat's little boy nigga with the trumpetsMarching with the bandwagonLooking for his heartNo sleeve but his hand carry musketsLurking in the meadows, OblivionMothafuck Geppetto, he's a leader not a puppetSome professors nuttier than Klump's dickSo think before you blink and aye-aye make assumptionsNiggasYour left, your left, your left, right leftNiggas is comingYour left, your left, your left, right leftThey want a story - a storyI write the shit that I find very amusingCause all the other fucking stories are boringIt's really awkward to know that a bunch of kids do adore meIt's like I fathered these fuckersSo you won't find me on MauryI'm still a kid in my heart so I have a problem maturingBut it will come from experiences and shit I see touringI'm like a bird when I'm soaring, really highAnd I'm really horny, from watching this pornNope, but5, 4, 3, 2, and where's TylerBottom of the countdown, shit ain't been the sameSince I found out Hodgy Beats ghost wrote for Bow-WowNow I'm the loud shock value style foul mouth fuckerThat your teenage kid likes to bow downRiding around town in SeattleWith the same shotgun that Kurtused to click-clack, boom-powStill suicidal but some assume that I'm cool nowCause I got a fucking award and my own room nowNope but I can flip shit like a couch pillowAnd have my death silent like a loose vowelThe bandwagon turned into caboose, soSo, don't let that little nigga trumpet lose soundjust let him play
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