while i'm dreaming on the street they come
yelping and loping out the side ditch,
they knock me off my bike and spill my drank
in the fields in the lemon green and
when dusk falls on the elms and oaks
i die 1000 deaths and
the 9 lives of 100 cats
couldnt save me
the cops and lynch mobs,
every morning i look at the kids playing outside
with their rocks, their low tops and the butter
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