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Was It Wicked Of me?

beats: Spakur & DJ Lo-kut
scratch: DJ Lo-kut

doctor, what’s the diagnosis? what has gotten into me?
it’ll be the bittersweet epitome of dignity
I’ve tasted sweet fruit from the forbidden tree
but it came to it’s senses and it had to get rid of me
I’m keeping something hidden deep – it must be the pain
as I rush between trains, cars, busses and plains
doing underpaid shows in my search for some fame
and fools got nothing to gain by making fun of my name
see me drinking soft drinks with the taste of ginger
next minute – lights out and your face is injured
inflicting much pain as I pick apart brains
with my self designed tools like I’m Ichabod Crane
wake up and smell the roses as hell approaches
don’t like it you can tell the roaches or maggots
‘cause bugs and worms’ll be your only companions
dig it? – do you think me wicked?

I’m sick of this place and I’m sick of my face
sick of days chasing days – need to quicken my pace
I’m sick of all the phonies and I’m sick of deceit
I gave ‘em all hell – was it wicked of me?
I’m sick of this place and I’m sick of my face
sick of days chasing days – need to quicken my pace
if this is leading anywhere then it’s tricky to see
I gave ‘em all hell – was it wicked of me?
Yeah I’ve seen some shit in my days
refresh my memory with a spit in my face
I keep a photo on my wall of each of all my enemies
and sure I’ve got some nice pictures
of some beautiful memories
but they’re hidden in my drawer
not on display like they should’ve been
it’s just that I’ve got no frames nice enough to put ‘em in
so I’ll keep ‘em there – never let ‘em out before
guess I need some fresh air and I’m heading out the door
and people call my name when I’m walking by – it’s tiring
‘cause you never know if they’re mocking or admiring
some even try the evil eye – I keep on walking by
and night time street preachers better back up off me
as they offer coffee, cookies and salvation
claim they’re heaven sent
put on earth to calm all the flames of discontent
but old Joe Hill you were right all the time
I know there’ll be no pie in the sky when you die

now the final bell tolls for me – I say let it ring
all I ever wanted was a little bit of everything
let me rest my head on a bed of sinking feelings
in a state when awake just never seems appealing
I’m trying to find some peace
please Mr. Tambourine man
could you shut the fuck up – I’m halfway to dreamland
just let me write my songs the way I wanna
don’t say I’m on a wicked path – I’m sick of that
I hate when all the bigheads think they’re on
the only road that we can follow
I leave you just as bigheaded
as the ghost of sleepy hollow
you talk true shit – I’m like scha-ptuh spit
then I pin your eyes out with a sharp toothpick
and throw your pitiful bottom into a bottomless pit
I fail to see the thin line between polish and demolish
an appetite for destruction
let’s the wrecking ball bring it on
while I’m trapped here at the second floor singing songs

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