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 i've with.
and how i'm dealing. cut the deck. distribute the pieces
of shit talking our disputes on weekends.
we can sing to each other's song, right?
even if the is wrong, right?
just make sure you don't bring the mike,
'cause i don't care about meeting a we can all like (nah!).
this song is trite, hope ya like it.
could've your name with the title but i decided that i'd keep it private.
violent sequences just seem endless.
i can see myself a heated entrance
to your workplace a smirk on my face.
and a in my cheek. and a gun in my reach.
sneaking photos of myself under the seats of your co-workers,
a knife to your 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. their side was out on a furlough.
i like turbo-nuclear affairs.
i want a wife, a house, and two and a mistresses to call when i'm not there.
then hang up the phone, and have my wife up the phone company,
and ask the company guy "why???"

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

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

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

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