| Picture a fiery hand
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| A mountainous peak made of gold
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| A pen that paints a magnetic throne
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| Wind that speaks, an Earth that folds
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| Like an ancient poems where lions roam
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| Thoughts with crowns of throns
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| This is till death’s kiss departs us
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| I hope my mind expand, my verses are monsters
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| Orgy rhyme, electric Kama Sutra
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| Eyes are time machines I spit the future
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| Shout the name Azeeme!
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| Shake the pavement
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| I’m heat you crackhead niggas think I’m satan
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| Lightning strike ambulances are coming
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| The alarms are breaking
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| Got singers and popstars running
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| Losers
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| Spit till my teeth get bruises
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| And switch my voice pitch to optic illusion
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| I’m coming
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| Thats right ya’ll I’m straight gunning
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| Oakland, California
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| We number one in this
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| This is work from the lab
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| This is business
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| This is mad science
|
| It’s musical test tube sex
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| It’s wet scriptures
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| This is the experiment
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| It’s the experiment
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| I speak the truth that people say are lies
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| I let them criticize
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| And send a fire in their wintertime
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| And I’m a friend of independent minds
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| Invented in out prime
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| With coded messages in every line
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| And as for wisdom we have every kind
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| From what is hidden, to the carnal
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| To the never-ending length of crime
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| Pick a chapter from the book of rhymes
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| And hear the letter master put a dance on words until they pantomime
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| My crews are love and lost
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| The only beauty truth scarred
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| They (?) cause were dancing screwing movie stars
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| This is more than pools and broads
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| Its who we are
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| Jogging over tracks
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| Colossus (?)
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| Electric sex nineteen two thousand and three
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| One love |