Luyện nghe bài hát Trite

[Sage

i'm having crises.
"no not." "yes we are."
i'm identity crises.
"no not." "yes we are."

i have a feeling that hasn't been felt, feeling on my felt tip,
showing my hand...revealing what dealt with.
and how i'm dealing. cut the deck. distribute the pieces
of shit during our disputes on weekends.
we can along to each other's song, right?
if the interpretation is wrong, right?
just make you don't bring the wrong mike,
i don't care about meeting a boyfriend we can all like (nah!).
this song is called trite, hope ya it.
could've your name with the title but i decided that i'd keep it private.
dream sequences just seem endless.
i can see myself making a heated
to your workplace a smirk on my face.
and a in my cheek. and a gun in my reach.
sneaking naked of myself under the seats of your co-workers,
putting a knife to your throat and out "i won't hurt her!"
like, "let her go!"
and i'm like, "let her grow!"
prisoners wouldn't listen to this. their side was out on a furlough.
i like family affairs.
i want a wife, a house, and two and a mistresses to call when i'm not there.
hang up the phone, and have my wife call up the phone company,
and ask the company guy "why???"

and he's like, "ma'am...well, maybe you don't know how to talk."
and like, "damn...well...wanna fuck me?"
"yeah of course."

see? case closed. and he knows how to calls,
so i can't make cranks saying, "i ya'll!"
i throw baseballs at my mirror, break a tear a-
nother page out of my diary, it from the eighth floor 'til i hear a
pin drop. pallbearers are in shock.
they know i'm about to kill myself a sling shot.
bring rocks for ammunition,
steal my lifetime magazines and then my subscription.
their are just itching to scratch my clean records.
my rap are infected, now i can't be president???
i have to be elected! i ask for just a second chance.
the answer was "kid, you never did in the first place."

speaking of that, give me my blue ribbons back and that is mine.
waiting for a guy who can't make it to the finish line.
when i die you won't recognize the buried inside the obituary,
but it'll say, "bye, i miss you much."

i'm always one for last words at time,
in a million years is when this dead star shine.
say my name. nope. say my fuckin' name. nope.
you don't...know to call me so you don't.
you don't you call me.
you don't you call me.