| I said, outer space the place that I’m parkin' in
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| My marketin', when you see the sky darkenin'
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| Rhyme artisan from the crew that’s bipartisan
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| Hi haters a 5th grader you’re not smarter than
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| Alpha & Omega you betas I march harder than
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| Batteries, y’all ain’t included, you’re not a part of it
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| I just took a flight to France to cop cardigans
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| At Lanvin
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| I’m that primetime Buju Banton
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| And I’m just trying to get it on 'til I die
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| Am I wrong if I’m living like the laws don’t apply?
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| Making music out of nothing, know that boy’s bonafide
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| It’s disturbing when a murderer enjoys homicide
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| Talented Mr. Trotter squad, beyond qualified
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| Multiplying the dollar sign, the grind is real it’s Palestine
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| My sidekick came from Columbine
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| That fly shit came from Saint Laurent
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| Surprise, bitch! |
| I never lived a false moment in time
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| Riddle me, what kind of omen am I? |
| You know the slogan is ride
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| I said a weapon should be chosen to fire
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| Only the ghetto Beethoven replied, the ninth wonder maker
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| Thunder breaker send these toys to the undertaker
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| My pen smoking like a rude boy from Jamaica
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| While I’m erasing every fuckboy from the face of the Earth
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| What’s up, boys? |
| It’s time for you to get your weight up
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| Yo, I probably began in the Rift Valley
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| In places untraceable by Rand McNally
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| Took a cobblestone trolley through a Mercer Street alley
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| To more championship rings than John Salley
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| Biochemically on par with Salvador Dali
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| I traveled to Tijuana and smacked the federali
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| Who packing avocado toast like Mario Batali?
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| I’m an ocean without a coast, going back to Cali nigga
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| Name some other body equally as ill
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| Frequently I see the drama call me Cecil B. Demille
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| Not a chink up in the armor though I’m lethally for real
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| People been telling me recently, «Tariq, you need to chill!»
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| But picture that, the diplomat pistol slap aristocrats
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| Any rapper coming for me, I’ma send a missile back
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| Not too many legends got a legacy that’s this intact
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| That equipment I’m grippin kept where the ammunition at
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| Soul Makossa like I’m Manu Dibango
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| Wild as the Democratic Republic of the Congo
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| I’m Hunter S. Thompson doing it Gonzo
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| A rapper winds up as a John Doe, I told niggas
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| Sixty seconds to shine before I fold niggas
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| I must be out of my mind with it, gold diggers
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| Here come the general for the quadricentennial
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| I’m a non-millenial what I rep is the old niggas
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| Let’s meet at the crossroads and toss O’s
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| And learn some things only the Lord knows
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| Break the law, it’s the only law now, no one knows
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| Got pies in the oven but no DiGiornos
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| We all got fucked but no pornos
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| We ain’t growing corn but got cornrows
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| We ain’t plant greens but we be spending it
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| Lifespan is short, try extending it
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| If you ain’t into reading, I’m recommending it
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| I’m reading Carter G. Woodson when I’m in the woods
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| When the money’s cut off, will we barter goods?
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| A lot of niggas is cowards and ran out of fatherhood
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| Should we kill them or let 'em live?
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| I don’t fuck with no suckers, I never did
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| Mi amor, if you a Moor
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| If I ever go to war it’s the kids I do it for
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| I eat emcees they can send me a few of ya’ll
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| And by a few I mean way more than two
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| You can times that by twenty and tell 'em to come through
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| And watch ‘em get beat like African drums do
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| Old soul, I probably gave lessons to Sun Tzu
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| Lyrically I’m Bruce Lee mastering Kung Fu
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| Rhyming with Black Thought possessing the black thought
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| I told you that I’m conscious but bet you I’ll clap off
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| I’ma be the one that they hold in a rap off
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| I ain’t wrapped too tight, my nigga I snap off
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| Or maybe I snap on
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| When I go for the ride my nigga then latch on
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| I’m Hannibal on an elephant, animal but elegant
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| Given you hell heaven sent
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| Light a joint, I’ve been places you’ve never been
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| Close my eyes, I could die then get wise
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| Treat my life like a script, I’m getting it revised
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| Used to keep the beat joint right up in the Levi’s
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| I’m the tenth wonder I told them to ask 9th
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| I’m the other Black Thought, the last ear bender
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| Avatar ghost, the one who could bend time
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| The one who could bend rhymes, the one who could bend flows
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| Repping for old niggas, little nigga you know
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| We the ones who made making of a murderer
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| Fuck around, you could be in making of a murderer
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| Ghost! |