| Now everybody
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| Fast forward to the future, the year, 2−0-4−4
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| And let me tell you what’s in store
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| Just so you won’t be surprised when we blow up, before your eyes
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| And when you watch my kids grow up then, you’ll realize
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| That my literary talent was genetic
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| Copacetic not pathetic, but poetically prophetic
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| Now 50 years down the line, we gon' all look back
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| And say that hip-hop, in 1995 was wack
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| But then we gots it back on tracks
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| And by the year of 2000, the T-N-D was housin'
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| Three slammin albums, the face is on the cover of Jet
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| And chillin like it wasn’t no sweat
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| Production was fat, with lyrics that hit
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| Had niggas steady shoutin, «Yo them kids the shit!
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| Man they new jam be flam, even fatter than the last one
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| And T-N-D see they ain’t never pull no fast one
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| They got skill, pure intellect
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| Remember back in ninety-eight when they dropped 'Cashin Checks'?
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| Yo word em up that was the summertime anthem
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| I’ll be playin checkers, drinkin Geritol and just lampin
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| Mackin to the biddies at the bingo game
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| Cause even then I ain’t gon' show no shame |
| See I’ll be rockin rough in rhymes 'til I’m 70
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| In T-N-D we gots mad longevity
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| Chorus: (with KRS-One sample)
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| «So 50 years down the line, yeah you can start this.»
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| . |
| cause we’ll be them old school artists
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| «50 years down the line.» |
| {*cut and scratched repeatedly*)
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| Now 50 years down the line, see I’ll be chillin
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| Like it ain’t no thing, with little shorties on the swings
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| Talkin bout, «My granddaddy had MAD flow
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| He got some old school, year two-thousand and ten tapes
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| When he was rockin the shows, and keepin it true
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| Takin out your granddaddy and his punk ass crew»
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| Your kid’ll get mad, but Wilt didn’t run
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| But what can you say, it’s like father like son
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| And so I’m maxin' in a rockin' chair, readin' the funnies
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| Shorties runnin' up askin' they grandpop for money
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| So I whip out a wad, and slide the brother some ends
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| And tell him, «Stay away from danger, strangers and skins»
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| They say, «Sure,» bust a smile real quick
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| Think that grandpa’s dumb, lil' dudes ain’t slick
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| Cause I was their age once, and so I know whassup |
| I remember back then when I ain’t wanna grow up
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| I used to kick it with my crew like twenty-fo'/seven
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| And Writer’s Block rocked and all became legends
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| In the hip-hop field, now they names is known
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| The All-Star Durah, Atomic Ganz and Tone
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| Green Weez, Rashid and The Architects
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| Never heard of us then, but I was full in effect
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| We would? |
| and attack, to bring back the flow
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| I ain’t dreamin' I ain’t braggin' I just know what I know |