| I’m the type of kid who wears jogging pants to your downtown scene
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| Stay comfortable with a pound of brown weed
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| Lounge around streets and down a few Keiths,
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| Pound a few beats, ya’ll know the sound is unique
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| Now, who is this, Class, last man standing
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| Gas can in hand trying to blast Grand Canyons
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| What, I gotta act hard to be a rap star?
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| I grew up in the sticks fighting hicks in my backyard
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| Ain’t nothing pretty, far from the grimiest
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| Started in the 90's and it’s still hard to find me
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| Sitting on the benches, still independent
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| But a Halflife artists, attacks mics hardest
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| So open up your eyes, hold back, stop the talking
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| I speak to individuals so listen through a walkman
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| I know I say it often, hard to understand
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| But I’m sick of doing shows in front of 25 fans
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| We know, ya’ll ain’t ready
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| People, won’t expect me
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| Class, stay ahead of this
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| Ya’ll, reap the benefits
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| Your whole steeze is devilish
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| And that’s why, we ending it!
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| Now I don’t walk with a limp, I walk with a swagger in my step
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| Nova Scotia kid putting majors to the test
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| Behavior is a mess, stressed, wanna put this dagger in your chest
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| Feel like laying ya to rest
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| But I calmed down and keep my head up
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| Ignoring all these wack rap cats who got me fed up
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| Doing this for class so fuck all the challengers
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| You wanna get your talent heard, well let me mark it on my calendar
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| And we can do this, rhyme for rhyme, who’s fluid
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| I let me frustrations out strictly through music
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| That’s why I’m laid back when I talk all the time
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| But I’ll smash you in the melon if you cross that line
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| Listen, I ain’t trying to make this physical now
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| Ya pitiful pal, comparing to my lyrical style
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| A mile a minute, moving, keep running laps
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| Making heads turn till I hear something snap
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| Yo, Grade 6, smart mouth teen
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| I thought I was the shit wearing acid wash jeans
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| Now I’m trying to take over this rap and rock scene
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| Testing all teams when I’m letting off steam
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| Effecting ya’ll beans, my flow is to dope
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| If I smoke another rapper, I’ll need a hole in my throat
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| Never smoked weed all through senior high school.
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| It just wasn’t for me, I wrote rhymes recorded beats
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| But now, ah yo, I’m known to get stoned quick
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| Get up on the net and start bootlegging my own shit
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| Grown kid, still throws fits
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| Attack tracks with rap and stay focused |