| «If it ain’t red then it must be blue»
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| «No matter where I go, or how far I roam»
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| «Blue, baby, just like yourself»
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| «Exile and B-L»
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| The Los Angeles city skyline is like a photograph of my mind
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| I could feel the sea’s breeze every time that I rhyme
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| Cool guy, coulda played trumpet in a suit and tie
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| Barbers couldn’t cut us, move a line so it’s U-N-I-versal
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| First song I ever recorded
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| Felt important, I had to paint my portrait enormous
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| Clouds forming, the sun falls and darkness rises
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| Yo it’s like this every time I close my eyelids
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| Bro I grew up in the city of violence, was known for the riots
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| And now that I’m grown, I stay blown all alone
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| Was thinking bout those who didn’t make it
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| In my zone dreaming bout how far we could take it
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| From the basement, I never been one to run from
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| Guns sung every night where I come from, the blood runs (B-L)
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| Never fail, you can tell hell
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| I would never sell out, even if I’m on sale, retail
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| Presales, you can see God in the details
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| Midnight Blue, Kenny Burrell shocked the world like the law got
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| Caught in the third rail, burn Ls
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| Thinkin bout my daughter’s future walking outta jail, so thorough
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| Even as a kid, I wanted to be big
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| Like Jigga, «Can I Live?,» ten siblings need a crib
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| Like the ones on Cribs, niggas facing long bids
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| Tryna make it where I live, real talk it’s common sense, I’m
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| «I am the nappy kid from Cali
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| «Every time I see you it’s like the first time I meet you»
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| «The nappy kid from Cali»
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| «You ain’t me»
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| «A never-ending saga when I rap to these beats»
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| «I got my props off the rhymes that I invented
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| 'Cause I spoke my mind and I meant it»
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| «Exile and B-L»
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| I fell onto the planet, knowledge, born building understanding
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| Dropping poems on the illest canvas
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| South Central, Los Angeles, where niggas hold pistols and start scandals
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| I picked up a pencil and wrote anthems, my city mold champions
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| Talent show battling, managing life challenging
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| And I would write traveling unraveling thoughts
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| Pass the mic before I pass you the blunt
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| Smash the stage then I pass up the cost, acting a fool
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| Rapping was cool, sorta something we could actually do
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| Mastered my views, get my cash stacking after my dues
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| Classic tunes, platinum plaques back-to-back with my crew
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| Black and blue, back to rocking black on black at the show
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| Pack up the show, black the block, we gotta block out the news
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| Blackout at shows, no Glock, black proud and I’m Blu
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| I used to sing James Brown, I used to talk through towns
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| Tearing down egos, rocking gold, wearing a crown
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| Airing our style, all hail to the king, hair grew out wild long time ago
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| Ten years exactly, where are they now?
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| I’ve been B-L, back when they was clapping at fools
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| After school for acting cool, I just had a backpack full of raps
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| Avenue Blu is finna battle you spit
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| 45 Calliber, raps that’ll dismantle you, my album’s done, I’m back
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| Told the homie, «Don't bang, just hang with me»
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| Cribmania, the whole gang was me, it’s so gangsta to be
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| «Blue,» «True blue when I bust»
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| «I am» «B-L-U»
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| «The cloud becomes black and the sky becomes blue»
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| «Out of the blue, time for a new young king to rule:
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| «But if I have to, I go all out with no mic»
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| «I might be the color blue»
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| «A new fresh rap»
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| «Exile and B-L»
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| Yeah, just when I thought I was blanking out, I blanked out
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| Back in the day, I used to dream about banking out, and I’m banked out
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| With change, change
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| Make cent, pay dues now pay rent
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| Same shoes I work in, I church in
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| Service, the shirt fits, the roof over my head, the bed under my ass
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| I hear rumbling, put my ear to the wall
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| Nothing but jazz, grandad musta had that on blast, oh here they come again
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| James Brown put eight drummers in his band
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| The promoter put 200 in my hand, I’m a mad man
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| Track under the rap just to match to the gas can
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| Last dance, Miles Davis, Coltrane, Philly Joe
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| Fuck that, brought it back, Max Roach
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| Wack hoes got smoked quicker than the last roach
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| Bad joke, we pack boats when black folks had a chance
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| Fuck slavery, we build pyramids with a helping hand
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| Made a classic with this rap shit, ain’t look back since
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| Build a black fence around my mansion, I’m a black man
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| Black hand, black fists clenched, activist
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| Black Panther Party bigger pistol packing wrapping Christmas gifts
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| I’m gifted rappin', if you can get it grabbing grams
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| Grip it on another level take a stand
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| Hate the hate and shake the salt
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| Break the vault and quake the asphalt
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| But I spark the bark until I’m retarded |