| The taste of nuthin, this does somethin
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| Mom’s got no back, says I’m frontin
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| Call me Smiley, cuz I’m wiley
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| Living life like the life of Riley
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| Smokin' blunts with a boy named Bud
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| We cough up your lungs, cough up your cud
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| Put out fires, with a 40, ounce of water
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| You know you oughta
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| Dance to this, the girl you kiss
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| I like fried foods, especially fish
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| Afrocentric, I’m electric
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| Socialistic and eccentric
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| Body’s healthy, mind is wealthy
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| Thoughts, they flow, that will propel me
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| To be a Native, get creative
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| Original and designative
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| Listen to the line that’s playin'
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| Listen hard to what Q’s sayin'
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| Politicians are magicians
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| Make your vote, they hope your wishin'
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| Ambiguous words, senseless verbs
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| They all amount to crap that’s heard
|
| Violent hip hop, money flip flops
|
| Promoters won’t book, but it still rocks
|
| I’m a Zulu, yes, a true blue
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| Red Alert is with the poo-poo
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| Ozone layer, loses flava
|
| Here’s the edge that you will savor
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| The economy… Politics… Police… Everything
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| Except for the youth
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| But the youth about to come back
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| Alright, here they come
|
| Uh oh, uh oh, uh!
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| With expressions and I’m guessin
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| 19 years is a youthful lesson
|
| Fallin skies babe, open eyes babe
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| Can’t you see what lays inside babe
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| Makin mentions on this tension
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| Rhythmic lovin, my profession
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| Hips, they gyrate, scripts I narrate
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| No banana, I ain’t a primate
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| Ain’t no Soul Glo, just an afro
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| The head is bred to let the thoughts grow
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| Quest together, to lands of never
|
| Sleet and snow and storms can’t sever
|
| Tribe is growin, never know when
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| For this time, six necks may show in
|
| Dialogues have been accepted
|
| Negatives have been rejected
|
| That’s the music, negro music
|
| Is here for all, so you must choose it
|
| Phonies fondle, watch it throttle
|
| 3−6-5 straight out the bottle
|
| Bustin caps, finger snaps
|
| I prefer the second for ghetto tracks
|
| Phife, Jarobi, Ali told me
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| Get the force like Wan Kenobi
|
| Force his teachin, beats are screechin
|
| Poly plateaus, we aim for reachin
|
| Tribalization, freaks the nation
|
| A mass of peers in celebration
|
| Hopes been real high, since the knee high
|
| Days of youth, feelin good and real spry
|
| Avid combos, hear those bongos
|
| Boom cacka boom, that’s how they go
|
| We ain’t nomads, but we real glad
|
| Hip hop slams through the nineties, no fad
|
| As a rhythm, have been given
|
| Hurry up, become, we breakin out, out
|
| With a rhythmic instinction to be able to travel
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| Beyond existing forces of life
|
| Basically, that Tribal
|
| And if you wanna get the rhythm
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| Then you have to join a Tribe
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| Word, peace |