Yeah. Yeah
I've been so obsessed with thinking one-third of my life is over
A quarter life of crisis blink and 120 might be closer
Getting out my comfort zone and growing up and getting older
Picking up the undertone and all this shit I'm getting over
Misunderstood, but I understand
I just dropped 100 bands on my foundation in hopes that my roof can withstand
This mystery metaphor or physically
It'll be here sitting when I'm distant, dead in history
The suicide rate is highest with men. It's about three to one
The grief process makes us look weak. You see, father and son
I'm scared that I'll get banned from Paris if I talk in my sleep
Embarrassed of my aging parents when we walk down the street
And I'm not saying that I'm perfect, homie. Nobody is
Last April, I baked both my ojos in the solar eclipse
And ever since, my brain's been in a Mobius strip
Just when I thought life was over, homie, so it begins
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