Finish line with the tire marks
// [you can call out your guards]
Thank god for what i did with blocking against this shaky defense
My lyrics are mistaken for national security bomb threats,
// [you can call out your guards]
Please correct me, stretch marks
Fuckin' up my prestige, till i live with the blues
Janitors and cooks and guards and tellers, that's bad news,
I got these tats all on my arms
// [you can call out your guards]
Instant, spontaneous combustion of your security
They giving me pounds and thats of course getting money
She showed me affection like a drug dealer using her pocket for my protection
To wasting afflicted by the curse of addiction to security an pension
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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