| Yo Friday night, feeling right, fucking with this bad chick
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| Gats click, now I’m hit, shit, watch the blood spit
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| I fall face down, background is H-Town
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| Needle drag, music stops, people call the cops
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| For a rap cat, shot dead in the back
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| Over a dame, for some reason of which I cannot explain
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| My name was little known at this time
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| 'Less we use the Boston, Mass. as the measuring line
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| My crime being waxed, redirects, people’s tv’s set
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| Maybe you’re seeing the checks, or see 'em as threats
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| My fam cries at the wake, some guys do steaks
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| With their eyes on my tape, realizin' my surprisin' fate
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| Ten-to-five covered, then from five-to-eight
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| Now the average rap fan starts to gravitate
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| To the MC Esoteric, to see if they were sleepin'
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| On a dope MC whose skills need peepin'
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| It’s tough staying underground when you’re six feet deep
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| And major labels profit up off that, but in the streets
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| (It's Esoteric)
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| (Rest in peace)
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| And now everybody’s checking for my posthumous release
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| (Death is a final step)
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| (Death is a final step)
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| (You know dead rappers get better promotion)
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| (Death is a final step)
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| Check
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| Now as I look down, it’s kinda tough swallowin'
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| The fact that I’m a dead rapper with a cult followin'
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| Legions of fans got their hands on my old jams
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| And new fans, they were saying, «Oh damn!»
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| At every punchline, and now the rumors break and hit
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| Cause everybody knew that I was working on some new shit
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| Cats askin, «Who's on it? |
| Who produced it?»
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| Straight up, just ask deceased, let the man (Rest in peace)
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| All my old friends are now saying that’s a spiritual
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| My mother wants my material
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| Girlfriend’s saying that I’m lyrical, fighting over rights
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| Sellin R.I.P. |
| T-shirts at open mics
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| Fans thought the East/West was coming to South
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| Got the Source van in front of my house
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| XXL and Elemental runnin' their mouth
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| Got my dad depressed, he’s 'bout to flip, put a gun in his mouth
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| It’s tough staying underground when you’re six feet deep
|
| And major labels profit up off that, but in the streets
|
| (It's Esoteric)
|
| (Rest in peace)
|
| And now everybody’s checking for my posthumous release
|
| (Death is a final step)
|
| (Death is a final step)
|
| (You know dead rappers get better promotion)
|
| (Death is a final step)
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| Now majors having bidding wars, and deals on the table
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| Labels unstable cause my face is on cable
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| Even underground critics say that I’m the best that did it
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| Even though they shitted on my last hit-it
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| I don’t get it, Sony pimped me up in a week
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| And now my acapella’s flowing over wack commercial beats
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| They shot my video, with an Esoteric stunt double
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| In a Lex bubble, saying it was footage from the night before the trouble
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| No red tape, just sample clearances and mad guest appearances
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| (Like who?) A lot of guys whom I never authorized
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| As my mother looks into the skies to apologize
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| Although I’m dead, mom, my soul remains undaunted
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| Now you can actually afford the things you wish you flaunted
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| And even though every studio will be haunted
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| I finally got the major label budget that I wanted
|
| It’s tough staying underground when you’re six feet deep
|
| And major labels profit up off that, but in the streets
|
| (It's Esoteric)
|
| (Rest in peace)
|
| And now everybody’s checking for my posthumous release
|
| (Death is a final step)
|
| (Death is a final step)
|
| (Death is a final step)
|
| (Death is a final step) |