| It’s my time I’m 'bout to blow
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| You slept first, but now you know
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| The rap game, a thousand clones
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| All worried about their clothes
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| I used to chill at my home
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| Now I’m all about the road
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| Movin lockin down the shows
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| Hit the tele, count the dough
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| Shake hands, make plans, rent vans, make fans, god damn
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| This is how a little boy became a man
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| You want the fame and all the riches
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| Big name model bitches
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| But you don’t want to hustle twice as hard to try to get it
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| You gotta a lot to whine about
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| While you talking, wild n out
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| I’m posted outside the club
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| Workin passin flyers out
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| What’s Prints life about?
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| The same thing I rhyme about
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| Make good music and give my fans something to smile about
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| You outta try it out
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| We like to call it honesty, its the best policy
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| The reason why they follow me
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| My reputation precedes me
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| The rap game needs me
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| Cause I do the impossible, but I make it look easy
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| Now all the underdogs wanna take shots at my figure
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| Cause I’m eatin real big and didn’t invite them to dinner
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| You wasn’t there when I put it in the oven
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| So when its time to break bread cousin, don’t ask me for nothin
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| Everybody got a rhyme, if not a rhyme they gotta beat
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| If not ki’s of cocaine
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| They all packin heat
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| So what they really tellin me, when they ain’t outsellin me
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| And everything they say and do is fueled by their jealousy
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| I know you’re tryin to politic
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| And I’m only involved with it
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| So you can get in the game, take the ball and then run with it
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| They tried to hit me with the same thing that you fell for
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| «Make it more commercial Print, you probably would sell more»
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| But I’m eating now, so I’m like «what the hell for?»
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| Tellin me to change only makes me rebel more
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| But radio don’t want that, print don’t fit the format
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| Tell dude to change it up, and maybe he can come back
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| I made this in my basement, when you wasn’t even there
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| To express my feelings, not to be played on the air
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| So am I wrong or secure if I really don’t care
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| If this ever turns into something that anybody hears
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| Man I’m an artist, these other dudes sI write my album on my sidekick, no paper,
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| no notebooks
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| Then rhyme for five minutes straight with no breaks and no hooks
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| No punch-lines, no similes, so I’m easy to overlook
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| But Grooveshack, Theives World, Expo, Scribble Jam
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| I’ve been around in every single era and I’m still the man
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| And while I may not get the same hype as the next man
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| Everything in my life is going according to his plan
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| So thank god for every fan, every single listener
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| Who told me to make the art, you don’t gotta switch it up
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| You put it out, we’ll pick it up. |
| Do you, stay strong
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| You’re the main reason we don’t turn our radios on |