| Yeah
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| Man, this nigga Thelonious always give me sumn I can breathe on
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| Bleed on
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| Shout to Johnny Smalls
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| Uh, this is ground zero, I’m rising from the ashes, uh
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| The first step on the road to Damascus
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| I redefined my narrative I’m Frederick Douglas, uh
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| I can’t harbor hate, although they never loved us, nah
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| I tell my guys I miss 'em, they in dire conditions
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| Tryna survive in prison, praying they don’t die in Dixon
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| Bro said send him some pics of me with Australian bitches
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| Back in America, they treat us like we Aborigines
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| Original man, they tried to whit out our history
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| As if the first universities wasn’t Egyptian
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| Lauryn Hill said it bst, it’s just miseducation
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| And Section Eight is just modern-day segregation
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| I’m drinking from the whites-only fountain of youth
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| They heard the caged bird sing, so I bought me a coupe
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| Pardon the roof, it gets shy in the summertime
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| When momma said, «Be home before ten,» I had my number nine
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| Thugging outside with them Hooligans, ditching school again
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| The 'Raq was my holy land, like the tribe of Judah and them
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| Persecuted at home, like Philistines in Hebron is
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| I’m staring past the wall, from a rooftop in Bethlehem
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| Remind me of project halls in Lawless Gardens
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| It’s the same if you go back to Africa, Marcus Garvey
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| A people without knowledge is a tree without roots
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| I’m a walking contradiction, I’m in Saint Laurent boots
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| Mobbin', standing on the Westside with Chairman Fred Hampton
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| 'Bout to catch a red-eye, back to my bed in a mansion, yeah
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| When did hip-hop turn into hip propaganda? |
| (Uh)
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| They killed Dr. Sebi, they make mills off of cancer
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| The business is keep us addicted to pharmacists
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| So we too preoccupied with prescriptions for politics
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| Give 'em mass incarceration, leave the children fatherless
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| I’m the voice of a generation, we won’t be silenced, uh
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| It’s the business my love
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| I’m from the home of the Black Stone Rangers
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| Where they invented gang banging
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| And they twist up they fingas, like they opps in a backwood
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| From where Gotti Moe was hanging, he got killed there
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| Pulled him out his wheelchair, photographed him with his pants around his ankles
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| Where they indoctrinate young, hit the freight trains for guns
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| Drive 'em up from Indiana, or Tennessee with the 'Bamas
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| And blue police camera’s sit high, like gargoyles
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| Crack your head to the yolk for thinking you hard-boiled
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| Better, simmer it down, take that shit downtown
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| Six flags on Halloween, it’s fright night in Terror Town
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| And them killers in Killer Ward, catch you in River North
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| If you whippin' foreign, they pull your ass out the doors of your Aventador
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| Eat Flaming Hots for breakfast, 'cause that’s all they can afford
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| Forty-four percent of Englewood beneath the poverty line from where they living
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| poor
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| And they can’t make up their mind
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| Who’s the best of all time Larry Hoover or Jeff Fort
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| Who drop dimes? |
| Load Glock 9's and John Doe 'em
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| Where they changed the name from the Chi to the 'Raq to Drillinois
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| And the winter is brutal, put the toaster to your strudel, make you doo-doo
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| You on bed rest, living off ramen noodles
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| Where the North pole is bundled, and it’s Cobras out in Humboldt
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| You could get booked like Mowgli by the Moes out in the Jungle
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| And the Lord’s in Holy City will make you do the holy ghost
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| Shake you down like Diddy, if they suspect that you holding dope
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| You can’t play around in K-Town
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| It’s get down or lay down, buss downs, grey hounds
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| Throwing L’s in L-Town, bumping DJ L sounds
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| Active shooters in the city, this is not a drill, trust me it’s real now
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| Came for a photo op' to show your opps
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| You wanted to visit O Block, ended up having to stay 'cause you got shot, nigga |