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Game on, broheim. oh, I get it.
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I read you, brother.
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I hear you talking to me.
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No.
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Hey, you know what?
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The fucking "artist within" left us a turd within our toilet.
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Can you believe that shit? literally?
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It's like he's taking a dump on top of my head.
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I'm reading him loud and clear.
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I mean, it's a thing between him and me.
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And I think it involves you.
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you've inflamed him in some way.