| I wrote my way out
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| When the world turned its back on me
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| I was up against the wall
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| I had no foundation
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| No friends and no family to catch my fall
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| Running on empty, with nothing left in me but doubt
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| I picked up a pen
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| And wrote my way out (I wrote my way out)
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| I picked up the pen like Hamilton
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| Street analyst, now I write words that try to channel 'em
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| No political power, just lyrical power
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| Sittin' on a crate on a corner, sippin' for hours
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| Schemin' on a come up, from evening’to sun up
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| My man awaitin' trial, misdemeanors we younger
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| Courtroom prejudice, insufficient evidence
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| Jailhouse lawyers, these images still relevant
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| Flickerin' lights inside my project hall
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| Sickenin', the mice crawl all night long
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| And '87 Reaganism, many pages I’ve written on
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| Writin' songs about rights and wrongs and bails bonds
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| Master bedroom, bigger than the crib that I was raised at
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| I’m the architect like I wrote the code to Waze app
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| I’m driven, black Elohim from the streets of Queens
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| The definition of what It Was Written means
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| Know what I mean?
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| I wrote my way out
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| When the world turned its back on me
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| I was up against the wall
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| I had no foundation
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| No friends and no family to catch my fall
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| Running on empty, there was nothing left in me but doubt
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| I picked up a pen
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| And I wrote my way out (I wrote my way out)
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| I really wrote my way up out of 6E
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| Develop relationships with fiends, I know they miss me
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| Before the metrocards, it was tokens, I did the ten speed
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| Never had wrote a rhyme in my life, what was a sixteen?
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| At sixteen, arrested in housin', trips to the mountains
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| Came right back, trappin' off couches, watchin' for mouses
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| Only tools we was posed with, had a spot, smoke lit
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| The hate is just confusion, pay attention how them jokes switch
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| Diadora was my favorite, the Mark Buchanans
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| Mama couldn’t afford them, I learned everythin' on the border
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| That’s a big 8, Clic"parties with private dancers with no mixtape
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| Bumble Bee Tuna, now we could get steak
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| I persevered, composition, I kept it close
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| Competition near, I’m a Spartan without the spear
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| Three hundred rhymes, it was written before I wrote it
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| Opportunity knockin', might miss it, that window closin'
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| This poetry in motion, I’m a poet
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| I wrote my way out
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| When the world turned its back on me
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| I was up against the wall
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| I had no foundation
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| No friends and no family to catch my fall
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| Running on empty, there was nothing left in me but doubt
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| I picked up a pen
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| And wrote my way out (I wrote my way out)
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| High speed, dubbin' these rhymes in my dual cassette deck
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| Runnin' out of time like I’m Jonathan Larson’s rent check
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| My mind is where the wild things are, Maurice Sendak
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| In withdrawal, I want it all, please give me that pen back
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| Y’all, I caught my first beatin' from the other kids when I was caught readin'
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| «Oh, you think you smart? |
| Blah! |
| Start bleedin'»
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| My pops tried in vain to get me to fight back
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| Sister tapped my brains, said, pssh, you’ll get 'em right back
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| Oversensitive, defenseless, I made sense of it, I pencil in
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| The lengths to which I’d go to learn my strengths and knock 'em senseless
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| These sentences are endless, so what if they leave me friendless?
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| Damn, you got no chill, fuckin' right I’m relentless
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| I know Abuela’s never really gonna win the lottery
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| So it’s up to me to draw blood with this pen, hit an artery
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| This Puerto Rican’s brains are leakin' through the speakers
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| And if he can be the shinin' beacon this side of the G.W.B and
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| Shine a light when it’s gray out
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| I wrote my way out
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| Oh, I was born in the eye of a storm
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| No lovin' arms to keep me warm
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| This hurricane in my brain is the burden I bear
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| I can do without, I’m here (I'm here)
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| Cause I wrote my way out
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| I picked up the pen like Hamilton
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| I wrote my way out of the projects
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| Wrote-wrote my way out of the projects
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| Picked up the pen like Hamilton
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| I wrote my way out of the
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| Wrote-wrote my way out of the projects
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| I wrote my way out
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| Picked up the pen like Hamilton
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| I wrote my way out of the
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| (I wrote my way out)
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| Really, I saw like a hole in the rap game, so if I wanted to put my little two
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| cents in the game, then it would be from a different perspective
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| (I wrote my way out)
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| I thought that I would represent for my neighborhood and tell their story,
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| be their voice, in a way that nobody has done it
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| Tell the real story |