| This is a remix… this is a remix
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| «A-a-a-at-at night the open mic be invitin me to rhyme» ---] Rakim
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| High & Mighty, Wordsworth, Alkemist, Mr. Eon, wreckin shit
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| «A-a-a-at-at night the open mic be invitin me to rhyme»
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| Mr. E-O-N must be talkin bout me
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| (Who dat?) The one and only High & Mighty MC
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| Who be perpendicular when I be dickin ya
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| E smoke a bone the size of a fibula
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| Prepare for the slaughter, the lyrical marauder
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| Unfreakable acts like me and your daughter, did
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| I be coughin layin in the coffin
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| Step out the fantasy world you be lost in
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| Dead man walkin, engage you hawkin
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| ]From Pensauken to Vienna
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| I be me and a slew to combat your crew
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| With acrobatics only seen in cartoons
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| Like the Go-ad Rucker, double-pumped ya
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| Puncture, vocally rupture, puff a cluster
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| Ambidextrious, both sides test this
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| Removin wackness like asbestos
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| «A-at night, the open mic be invitin me to rhyme»
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| «The open mic… the open mic… at night the open mic be
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| Invitin me to rhyme»
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| «Open m-mic, I bring out that box to the shit.»
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| «At night, the open mic be invitn me to rhyme…
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| The open mic-mic-m-m-mic be inv. |
| itin me to r-rh-hyme»
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| «Open mic, I bring out that box to the shit»
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| Yo check it out, yo; |
| From prenatal to cradle and able to print
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| I’m so deep that dirt’s at my naval, my table’s cement
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| You audio/video vaginal, lines imagine a magnitudes
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| That give longitude and latitude some attitudes
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| ]From an environment, freestyle’s a requirment
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| I bought every album, then my parents had to hide the rent
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| If my demise commence unexpectantly, just test my pee
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| I bet you see ecstasy or some obscenity inject in me (what else?)
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| I flood your airways, place planes in jeopardy
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| Flights vanish, panick deputies, inspect the sea for jet debris
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| Let it be, and commence the record to play
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| I’m so ahead of my time when I talk there’s a seven second delay
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| Don’t judge a book by its cover when I’m inventin
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| I add your colon to my sentence, and start to pluck off on your appendix
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| Dexterity hurled is about to rally the world
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| You can’t write without using like, what are you some type of valley girl?
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| At open mics, I’m tellin y’all one last time
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| Stop askin for a capellas and then kickin those wach rhymes, flatline
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| What, yo-yo-yo
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| «A-a-a-a-a-at-a-at night the open mic be invitin me to rhyme
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| .the open m… mic be invitin me to r-r…rhyme»
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| «Open mic… I bring out that box to the shit»
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| I’m accustomed to abiding by freestyle penal code
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| My rhymes are like long drives going down a scenic road
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| Taught discipline through paragraphs, walk backstreets and narrow paths
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| My kicks look dirty and pants sag like I have no ass!
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| Flippin styles that’d pioneered in the Space Age
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| Writin your first paragraph, I’m already on my eighth page
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| For the way you write your rhymes, I could tell you never really made grades
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| Going through life miserable, hatin yourself on payday
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| A pleasant plea, Thirstin in parentheses
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| I heard a mute man mention me to a blind woman on Vescey Street
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| Urged to leave gats alone in memory of Pumpkin and Faster Poem
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| Wouldn’t want my moms to identify me with half the dome!
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| A toast, with high price gangrere
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| Battle the best motherfuckers and whoever they bring here
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| Long term, sought through rations
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| I even put freestyle under special skills when submitting application
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| Flows, that can’t be followed by asthma patients
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| Got a deathwish? |
| Here’s his extension, ask for Satan
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| The rap languages me and more, findin subjects in Singapore
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| Impressin MC’s who swore to God they’d seen it all
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| «The open mic be invitin me to rhyme»
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| «…The open mic… the open mic be invitin me to rhyme»
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| «Open mic I bring out that box to the shit» |