| I’ve traveled so far
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| Couldn’t tell you how far
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| Feels as though I have been
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| A million places at once
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| Many lives I have lived
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| Many battles I’ve fought
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| I’ve fought, and lost
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| Mass shooters
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| Black rulers
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| What’s up to you half-truthers
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| Hotep
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| That’s humor
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| I’m past the rumors
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| I’m past the human
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| The body is trash
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| A bad computer
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| A ghost, a ghost
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| With massive tumors
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| Can’t threaten a nigga like me
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| With death I’d be glad to do it
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| And sprinkle my ashes on my Mac computer
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| And rappin' to it
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| While blastin' Future
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| And say that’s the future
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| That’s the future
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| If you’re lookin for trouble
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| You ain’t gotta look far
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| Without the presence of dark
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| Wouldn’t-
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| The year is 5625
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| Niggas is clappin' and stompin' in church, waiting for Jesus to come back alive
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| Niggas is still (conscious), waiting on E.T. |
| to come out the sky
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| Stop all these crimes, mentally ill and out of their mind
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| Nigga-niggas-niggas-niggas is still awaiting for fleck to get some supplies
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| Niggas is still like «Damn, I was just talkin' to so-and-so the other day,
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| how did they die? |
| Why?»
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| Niggas is still (conscious), waiting for politicians to admit that they lied
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| Since we all comrades, (let them niggas pre-locked up in them contracts)
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| You accept that its generous, just 'cause the man let his boot off your neck
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| just a little bit
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| If that shit — if that shit — if that shit was threatening, you wouldn’t know
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| that it did exist
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| They wouldn’t — they wouldn’t — they would’ve hid that shit from you,
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| like all of your history
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| They brought — they brought — they brought Bill Nye back from the dead just to
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| get a minute
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| They sent so many agents my way, I could start an agency
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| (You are nearly conscious)
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| It’s all about branding, all about branding, feel like a fraternity,
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| niggas wanna brand me
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| Niggas want Grammys, niggas want families, niggas think I’m crazy,
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| I don’t own a damn thing
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| Where the fuck’s the manual? |
| They can’t understand me, they can’t understand me
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| All that shit must go, all that shit is trash, there is not a Plan B
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| (You are nearly conscious)
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| Where do all of that go, where we gon' end up, where we all landing?
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| This is just a shit-show, this is just a sitcom, lying on me passing
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| (You are nearly conscious)
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| I’ve traveled so far
|
| Couldn’t tell you how far
|
| Feels as though I have been
|
| A million places at once
|
| Many lives I have lived
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| Many battles I’ve fought
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| I’ve fought, and lost
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| If you’re looking for trouble
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| You ain’t gotta look far
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| Without the presence of dark
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| Wouldn’t be any stars
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| You may know who I am
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| But do you know who you are?
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| (You are, you are)
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| These roads, they don’t go nowhere
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| These half-ways overdid it
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| I’ve had my share of losses
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| I’ve had my share of lessons
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| And I sure know what hell is
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| And I ask you this question
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| If we, ourselves, ain’t perfect
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| Then how could we know what heaven is like? |