| Hip hop like drug in my veins, killing me harshly
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| This could be my end if I don’t win. |
| Don’t start me
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| In street life, I’m hugging the flames—get this heat off me
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| Tie the knot, eating not, driving, riding the iron horsie
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| I love hip hop for the lack of something worse to do
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| I spit high, then just rock. |
| This is impersonal
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| Free shows, flee flows, wonder if I’m breaking even
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| Eating Fritos—word to snacks, I just start breaking even
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| Hatin' seein' what I love misused and abused
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| Mind bleeding, confusion, focus, a loser succeedin'
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| I ask questions to answers and define reason
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| Like cancer to a cigarette lung having fun, still breathing
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| Smokers suck butt, no pun intended
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| I’m tryin' to get big in the Bronx like Pun intended—what?!?
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| I’m still booking if you looking, still juxing, still crazy
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| Just got my straight jacket on. |
| I crooked look as…
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| I thought that I was all about it
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| But my mind remained clouded from weed. |
| Without it, what you read about it?
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| Crazy man ran through the train car crowded
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| Strapped with bang-bars, dramatic
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| Expression in face destined to taste it
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| While finessing the basics
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| Essence of ancients like P.A.Z.E
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| Keep it ten steps ahead like the KGB
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| Beasts watching me harder than Jay-Z streets
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| Cage me not. |
| The search found a crazy knot
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| You mangy cops—that's coming from the stage we rock
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| Stoned, earth and home all alone
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| With the piece of the block grown to daddy unknown
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| Had his son known pop, would he have left it alone? |
| Never
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| F with the chrome, build the treasures of dome
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| Represent home. |
| Later lay the rest of this poem
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| To his long-lost kite unflown. |
| How long this story goin' on?
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| Hip hop like drug in my veins
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| In real life, I’m still light and move at the speed of it
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| A bad child on the mic—sometimes, I just need a hit
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| The difference of right and wrong: open mic and writing a song
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| Someone I love or a chick I like looking nice in thongs
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| While you rush to work and rude people step on your feet
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| I’m coming from the studio, thinking deep, listening to beats
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| And give thanks that I wake after I rest in peace
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| I live heavenly in hell, feeling well writing the heat
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| Hip hop like drug in my veins
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| They puttin' math improper on us, want us dead
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| Plus, they couldn’t care less if every corner’s red
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| Hunted like Cornish hens
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| Even men making honest ends, born to sin
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| Walk and take me out tournaments
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| From hanging like ornaments to self-inflicted unfortunates
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| Do it to yourself like «Who taught you this?»
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| Bought you for a portion—now a portrait is a landless mask
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| Me and my mans work the plans to command this cash
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| Hip hop like drug in my veins |