| Envisioning the hereafter, listening to Steve Wonder
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| On a quest for love like the Proceed drummer
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| I strike like lightning and don’t need thunder
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| Inhale imagination and breathe wonder
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| That’s your lady, I used to run up in her and G weed from her
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| It’s a cold world and niggas need summer
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| At times my going forward seems like retreat
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| As I rewrite rhyme after rhyme and throw away beats
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| Growing into my britches, outgrowing the streets
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| There’s a thin line between war and peace, whores and jeeps
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| Ignore MCs like beeps, scribbling freedom on pages
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| My third eye is like pink eye, seen and contagious
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| Redeeming the ancients with ageless rhyme jargon
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| I feel Mexican, hip hop is my garden
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| Don’t give a fuck where you charting, certain shit I can’t honor
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| It ain’t that you selling, it’s your karma
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| Rappers I monitor like a chaperone, you large and haven’t grown
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| Poetically perform live-bys, another rapper gone
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| The stage becomes a catacomb, I rap like a mummy
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| Not for the money, I could have sampled Diana Ross a long time ago
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| My mind of flow is like motor key 20
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| Youngblood said he had dimes, I prayed that he see twenty
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| Hollering at the brothers, either you gon' be a thug or a man
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| Flip drugs and get land
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| I can see my man was tired as he described how the bucks hit him
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| And said slugs was still stuck in him, when it rained, it fucked with him
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| This bucket interrupt wisdom and asked when my album was coming
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| I said it’s here, it’s here… |