| Uh-uh
|
| I haven’t forgotten
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| I couldn’t forget
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| I remember my oaths
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| I remember my duties
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| I haven’t forgotten my loyalties
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| Lookie here, it’s my blind spirit dance
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| Learned it by the riverside, holding hands with Rosencrantz
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| You ask: where is Guildenstern?
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| On the other side of a long bridge I burned
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| He remains so patient and pious
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| Also pompous and probably going to die soon by gun fight
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| At high noon we gon' find your blood type
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| That’s how I’d talk if I was a Deadwood character
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| Imma buy a pink Cadillac and blog Blue America
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| Drive my momma wherever she need to be at
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| Taking the corner slow
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| I was raised on Brother J, X Clan
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| I was always taught to pass my blessings to the next man
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| Stomping, walking in my big black boots
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| Stomping, walking in my big black boots
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| (Living off the earth eating birds and fruits)
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| (Living off the earth eating birds and fruits)
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| The force of the winding path was sent tristen trip
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| The living myth in the physical
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| The young son of Bobby Digital with all wooden fingers
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| Prone to write a poem when the gloom lingers
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| Like I’ll swear the gin
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| Might find an outback bearskin
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| Where the coarse air wimmering
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| Crack a Morse Code riddle quick
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| Of course the boy’s all ready ready eat it hand full of mulberry berries
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| I’m forgetting something
|
| I’m forgetting something
|
| I’m forgetting something
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| How he’s so fluid conjuring poetics
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| Bud Powell with the fez screaming: Off with their heads!
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| (Who?) Bud Powell with the fez, nigga
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| Next he’s tailored with the black keys
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| Ashy hands and ashy black knees
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| On eight chains of the oldest gold
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| Crowned with fresh picked marigolds, yes I’m very old
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| Stand in front, I’m only nine with the kasha in my right hand |