| Uh, LA, uh huh, Chi Town, Philadelphia, PA
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| Hey now, uh, LA, yeah, Chi Town, Philadelphia, PA
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| Listen, pick any city, the South side, the outside
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| It isn’t pretty, the tots cryin' and shots fired
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| Protection there be the lopsided, cop kind
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| You see the scene of a crime like every stop sign
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| My section of twenty-one pound is downtown
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| They walkin' 'round wit' the guns out, it’s wild how
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| The youngings dumb proud, followin' the crowd now
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| Leading the blind with they minds up in the Soundcloud
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| Ain’t a lotta sunshine when you on a frontline
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| Listenin' to that ghetto drumline, duckin' one-time
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| Thinkin' how the Devil doesn’t tire, even sometimes
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| Wonderin' how the fuck could one’s rhyme be this unkind
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| Everybody cold to me, seeming through this bullshit
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| The only thing that sold to me bein' told, we should hold on
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| Gettin' old to me I’m about to buckle
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| 'Cause holdin' tight got my hands fully white-knuckled
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| And to be honest, tomorrow is not promised
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| Whether you on the streets of Chicago or Botswana
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| You gotta be rock solid, not to be outsmarted
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| The rise from rock-bottom to one of the top scholars
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| I never ask what’s the secret of success
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| With a target on your back and a scarlet on your chest
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| Listen, just get it, not a minute to rest
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| This is not a test, settle for the best, nothin' less, dig it
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| Pick any city, the South side, the drought side
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| Where E-M-S has arrived, well, it’s about time
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| People who just get they tops fried get outlined
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| Minutes and seconds go clockwise but not mine
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| Where I’m from it’s a war scene
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| Where more fiends scream for Morphines, Zoloft and Thorazine
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| We don’t subscribe to the grand scheme
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| The plans seems to be keepin' us all sick, sellin' them vaccines
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| Ain’t a lot of fun time when your only son dyin'
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| And the world’s comin' untied from the inside
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| That’s between affection and depression, it’s a thin line
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| Stress and pressure here is multiplied ten times
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| Everything is blurred to me, lessons deferred for me
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| Fam said it’s been a long term since they heard from me
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| My lil' homie never made it out of surgery
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| Sometimes I feel like South Philly tryna murder me
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| First, everybody’s upset 'cause you died
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| They like, «Wait a minute, man
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| I ain’t the ones who’s dead, he’s the one that’s brown bread»
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| Hah, so in comes the second lie, ya dig? |