Holdin A Jar #2

Cage

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    My intelligence is money
    My skin is the streets of New York
    My arms and legs are its fucked up bridges
    The subways are the worms that come through my corpse
    Liberty, my bitch, fucking everyone
    They cut my two middle fingers down but my dick is still standing

    I walked into Nasa, my pocket full of envelopes
    And this chick swinging from my dick is into dope
    Like hi-jackin with no planes, it's harmless
    Way to shermed out to kick your fucking skull into your armpits
    All found a dime, what's the worst that could happen
    Cage got a knick for 8 millimeter action
    No family man, even my daughter earning chasing after me with a fucking handy cam
    Flippin while I'm holdin a jar, tell me if I'm going too far
    Turn around I left some coke in the bar
    Can't waste the range premise on this FBI-secretary with tits unless she's a menace
    See the liquid kids and streams of five on her
    This is the minds blotter, paper-savior dipped in high blotter
    And I'm more patriotic with the narcotic wrapped in the little flag in the back ????

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    I ain't tryna train the sane, I'm playing the game
    Like numbers scratched off a gun, they change your name
    Chase the past and get the violence to spread
    Got my arms in the dirt tryna silence the dead

    Even when you win you lose in the end
    So I take acid out of my back and use it again
    Excuse me brother, why tap your spinal cord?
    while open-mic emcees waste vinyl cords
    ??? for skin, your flesh is born from it
    Empty the clip in your Toyota GS400
    If you're too old to hustle, put the gun down, uncle
    That's a nice vest with your head hangin from its last muscle
    Go cop the album, keep me alive
    And my functioning creative compartment will be downsized
    Beyond demise, it's high maintenence
    Looking for drugs with my hands crawling with agents
    Biological, with the hands on my nostril
    Can't get a vaccine with half the city in a hospital
    All these doom-leaders, and their spoon-feeders
    Can take the young, and let them lose leaders

    I ain't tryna train the sane, I'm playing the game
    Like numbers scratched off a gun - they change your name
    Chase the past and get the violence to spread
    Got my arms in the dirt tryna silence the dead

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