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. evenly distribute the
of shit talking our disputes on weekends.
we can along to each other's song, right?
even if the interpretation is wrong,
just sure you don't bring the wrong mike,
'cause i care about meeting a boyfriend we can all like (nah!).
this song is called trite, hope ya it.
could've substituted your with the title but i decided that i'd keep it private.
dream sequences just seem endless.
i can see myself making a entrance
to your workplace with a on my face.
and a in my cheek. and a gun in my reach.
sneaking naked photos of under the seats of your co-workers,
putting a knife to throat and screaming out "i won't hurt her!"
like, "let her go!"
and i'm like, "let her grow!"
prisoners wouldn't listen to this. rational side was out on a furlough.
i turbo-nuclear family affairs.
i a wife, a house, and two and a half mistresses to call when i'm not there.
then up the phone, and have my wife call up the phone company,
and ask the phone guy "why???"

and he's like, "ma'am...well, maybe you just know how to talk."
and she's like, "damn...well...wanna me?"
"yeah of course."

see? closed. and he knows how to trace calls,
so i make cranks saying, "i hate ya'll!"
i throw baseballs at my mirror, walls a tear a-
nother page out of my diary, throwing it from the eighth 'til i hear a
pin drop. pallbearers are in shock.
know i'm about to kill myself with a sling shot.
they rocks for ammunition,
steal my lifetime and then cancel my subscription.
hands are just itching to scratch my clean records.
my rap sheets are infected, now i be president???
i just have to be elected! i ask for just a chance.
the back was "kid, you never did in the first place."

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

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