| I’ve got two underpaid educators on the faders
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| Mad about the salaries of baseball players
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| A nation of thugs waving guns at the mayor
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| The meek on they knees, cold prayin' for savior
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| Enabled to outlast disease that plagues ya
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| Scientists with remedies, save 'em for later
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| In God we trust, written on the paper
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| Which soon will burn, as humans learn
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| To upgrade, advance
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| But wade, too far in the waters of chance
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| Stress reaches up to the heavens, its arms
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| Take the form of nuclear bombs
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| And when they weary, they drop and crush theory
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| Laying to waste every thing you held dearly
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| Let this near it, at this point you see clearly
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| You nodded through peril, just scream if you hear me
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| COME LIKE I HERE’SAY
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| Ain’t nobody comin' this fed
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| Could’ve went, got some sleep, but got keyed instead
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| So the organs that I use to breed are now bred
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| Cigarettes to the head, chillin' on the balcony
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| With some fly shit on hand like I practice foul degree
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| I’m out to be, one of the best, you know
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| MURS plus a mic, fuck the summit of rest
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| Now a gun and a vest? |
| Might protect you from takin' one in the chest
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| But it can’t protect you from this legendary crew that’s runnin' the west
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| I make you want to invest in the shit that we made
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| I give a damn what you made fuckin' with E-Trade
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| Cuz when the beat’s laid, the hardcore becomes priceless
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| The righteous Doctor T put the walk in concrete
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| The stop on Wall Street, the knock on the beat
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| You couldn’t run a close second with some clocks on your feet
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| Not jocked in the street but respected at the bank
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| Unsigned and hella broke, think it is when it ain’t, bitch
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| Uh, baby, the other OTHER white meat…
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| Whose radio reacts with the version of a perfect attack
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| Hi my name is Jamie Maleny, you might recognize me
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| From such magazines as white inches
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| And such films as kick the perpetrator new jack in his talk box
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| And bounce from the set like time bandits
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| Dwell in the cracks of the asphalt to design famine
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| If I combine the dirty works of the content in a bent drum pattern
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| Where each snare you hear is a snapshot of a broken city children
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| Building jails out of commotion and metal legos, c’mon man!
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| And that’s a kick-drum for the homeless, a gunshot for the system
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| Position on the totem is low
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| And Fahrenheits (?) today to sweat bullets
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| The cops will sodomize you like Jim Jay Bullet
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| And lick Billy Blanks at ya ass on some bullshit (Get 'em up Billy!)
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| Humanity makes the pellets that swim like the blade through gut jelly
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| So what the fuck can you tell me?
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| So what on God’s earth do you think you can sell me?
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| [Mr. |
| Len scratches «I got some good shit to tell you tonight
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| Brothers and sisters, brothers and sisters"]
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| Syncopated to the third degree, highest motion felt by man
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| Dropping through the bars from the fingers in the back of the brain day
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| Linger, maintain with the most devotion, scientific and vocal portion
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| Full-position dynamite, couldn’t have rocked on a finer night
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| Universe in a fire fight, me against the world tonight
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| Woes, negative, positive balance and flows
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| Holds, like in an upper color’s wallowing pride
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| From the first time that I tried might have been the first time that I died
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| Cuz I know now that I’m a mad scientist
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| Eyeing formations from the top of skyscrapers that dwells within my craters
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| Now it’s dark and I’m in the park with a marker and a telescope
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| In hopes to find the universe I fit in
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| Bidding on good riddance, forever after
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| Chuckling, your human science gives me laughter
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| Knees buckling, under the pressure of these energy masters
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| Smothering you bastards, acts is so plastic
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| Drop this shit from the head, ten-low, chemo
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| Emcees hope we won’t
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| Co-Flow, Living Leg' collaboration
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| We keep the world spinnin' like innovation
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| All shall awaken, nigga I don’t move or hover
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| Maybe you’ve got something to prove
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| But anything you’ve got, covered
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| Couldn’t picture this within a limbus
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| Infamous, stylus I’m epic
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| BMS damn right you said it
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| Damn right when it comes to the mic
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| Audio flows and any motherfucker can get it
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| MURS, Scarub and Eligh
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| Mr. Len, Mr. Lif, El-P and I |
| Please don’t attempt to adjust the vibe
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| We like to fuck with what you reset
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| What you just said, there’s no ways to protect
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| Two disconnections formed this step to intervention
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| Wherever we from, whatever we’ve done
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| However we some emcees
|
| Wherever we from, whatever we’ve done
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| However we some emcees we from
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| My time is slim, it ripples like tight skin over rib cages
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| Where I’m from, the powers that be got us livin' like dogs
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| Chasing our tails three-hundred and sixty degrees
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| Going nowhere, blinded by the glare of the green
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| Not talking weed I’m talkin' dollars
|
| They’re taping your every move on this planet
|
| It’s a life-long race from start to finish
|
| A competition where many win and many more get deminished
|
| A selected few cross through, a checkered flag for the first of 'em
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| Those who come in first place just had more thirst in 'em
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| A little bit more burst in 'em, but keep out the catch
|
| We’re all living in this poll-position
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| Some are just more focused to win and acquire the things that glisten
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| While others get left in the dust, miles away
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| Placed in the opposite position, pissing their lives away
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| So my time is slim, my time is slim, my time is slim… |