I hold the future in my fingertips
My destination races across her lips
It's no surprise, it's just what it predicts
My fate is sealed shut by the dice it picks
So I shook my magic eightball
And I posed an inquiry
And y future began to surface
Outlook not so good, most likely not, my sources say no
It is without a doubt hard to figure out this magic ball
What gives it it's mojo powers, and makes it so mystical?
Is it the faith of over a million kids who find it believable?
Or is it a bunch of four-sided dice trapped in a black plastic ball?
Writer(s): Rory Phillips
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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