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Lie Detector Test
by Sage Francis

Got a caveman banging on my back door
Got a hang man hanging on my front lawn
Got an old maid wasting away in the living room
Kids in the kitchen with their mouths full of silver spoons
Got a paper full of yellow journalism
A restaurant waiter selling me words of wisdom
The small town crier is chilling with the village idiots
The big city slickers are still busy building pyramids
Got a dimploma but no wall to hang it
Tags on the bathroom stall to make me famous
A job description that don't fit the bill
a fatal femme fatale dressed to kill
Get me out of this, lie detector test
My pupils inhale and exhale
My breath is a microphone check: 1, 2, what is this?

(I want to give a big special shout out to all the real people out there, keepin it real, because reality is worth maintaing, you know what I'm saying? keep it up)

In a world where these girl's got retro tattoos
and all I've got is a gut and velcro black shoes
and elbows that move in a way that makes space
I'm looking at you (stay awake, stay awake)
Natural face affected by the chemical leaks
Grammatical mistakes in every sentence I speak
It doesn't matter, I make enough sense to seem deep
Now look at me (go to sleep, go to sleep)

(You know I want to give a shout out to my boy Reanimator, my man Chris doing his damn thing, keeping me company in this dark ass room, and to all my girls killing ants in the kitchen. Peace baby.)

I'm a poor man's version of a rich man
I've got a small van swerving through a big land
I've got a road map that's looking a lot like a math test
A blocked phone number and a bunk home address
I've got a way out but I ain't trying to use it
'cause I've got some ins and I'm a bet all my winnings
If it hurts me more than it hurts you, then I won't hurt you
I've got more sense than virtue
I've got a cerfew, it's 12 o'clock
After that I'll start trembling if I get fed hiphop
'cause I'm a G to the are-e-m-l-i-n
If I wasn't then why would I say I am?
Get me out of this, lie detector test
My pupils inhale and exhale
My breath is a microphone check: 1, 2, what is this?

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Cheche Garcia

on Buckets Of Silence

I never held a funeral for that big part of me that died.
I need to put these thoughts to rest. i need to find a peace of mind.
I need to piece my mind, find a piece of mind to rest in.
need to find someone to confide in, and with the rest i need to start restin'.
needless to say, i couldn't hide.
fifteen grown men shouldn't cry.

Cheche Garcia

on Message Sent

I've got some letters inside of my drawer
that should have been stamped and delivered
One is addressed to my ex
it says I'm the type of kid who can't be lived with
One is addressed to my friends
it says I'm a mess so y'all can't visit
One is addressed to myself
but I don't know what personality or hand to give it