I don't Jones for nothing 'cause that's a waste Waste of space in my frontal lobe And I just sit, deal with it, don't have a fit Do you know what I'm
Here I sit in idle envy T.V. show still holds me in Thin steel creases my [Unverified] Begging till the end And then it hits me And then I see, then
All through the scandel Of the small own scene I always handle You like to think my spirit is weak I thought you knew I thought you knew, it was gonna
