My Wallpaper Looks Like Paint Testo

Testo My Wallpaper Looks Like Paint

Emis Killa si difende dalle accuse
Forty miles from the city. Sitting in traffic isn't fun.
Crucifix stabbed in soil, to a father from a son.
There's ghosts on the highway. I claim.
Dancing on the medians. Slamming breaks.
I'm forty miles from the city and this is the shit that's in my brain,
I need a whim. Something I can get caught up in.
I've got to get down to something. If I could sacrifice a little bit,
I will. Some of us are drinking coffee,
But how the hell could you read a paper. Probably headlines of fuel,
While the governments putting all the red tape down.
Wake up, I just woke up.
The revolution won't be televised, 'cause it's in the morning drive.
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