Luyện nghe bài hát Trite

[Sage

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

i don't have a that hasn't been felt, feeling on my felt tip,
showing my hand...revealing i've dealt with.
and how i'm dealing. cut the deck. distribute the pieces
of talking during our disputes on weekends.
we can sing along to other's song, right?
if the interpretation is wrong, right?
just make sure you bring the wrong mike,
'cause i care about meeting a boyfriend we can all like (nah!).
this is called trite, hope ya like it.
could've substituted your name with the title but i decided that i'd it private.
violent dream 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 photos of myself under the seats of co-workers,
putting a 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 rational 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 call up the 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."

case closed. and he knows how to trace calls,
so i can't cranks saying, "i hate ya'll!"
i throw baseballs at my mirror, break walls a a-
nother page out of my diary, throwing it the eighth floor 'til i hear a
pin drop. unsuspecting are in shock.
they know i'm about to kill myself a sling shot.
they bring for ammunition,
steal my lifetime magazines and cancel my subscription.
their are just itching to scratch my clean records.
my rap are infected, now i can't be president???
i just to be elected! i ask for just a second chance.
the answer back was "kid, you did in the first place."

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

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