| I’s looking fine as if the moth in the jar
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| The signpost up ahead, the ruin just afar
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| Dope-mongers endanger my chamber of speech
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| They beseech, I wait, incubate
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| Approach the light, preach
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| Fuming a funk, I’m banning euphoria
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| Asiatic, black, urban feudal warrior
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| On surface penetrate my realm
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| I’m plucking Pensacotl like maintain the helm
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| For hoop and true is how I like it too, so I spare you the drama
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| Quick like I shake at Bernie Getz, bust a cap in Joey Fama
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| Verbal mack. |
| Alas, I’ve ashed the pimp
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| They tried to bust me down, but I smashed the shrimp
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| I bottle mental anguish in story
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| The nocturne poet, know it all laureate
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| It’s like I displaced thirty seconds on the clock
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| The opposition surges, I free it and get the rock
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| They press and try to track, but I break it with my boogie
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| I up-fake the veteran, cross over on the rookie
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| I push it up the seam, through your do as I was taught
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| I’m staring straight ahead, yet I see the whole court
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| Aflicted with the fever, I penetrate the lane
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| Pull up forty inches on the vertical plane
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| Release it on the apex, I tell the key, «Your done.»
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| Come down a stalker’s ankle as I get the «and one»
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| Impending doom, suckers think they’ve got me locked in zone
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| I’m living from the way these brothers' ride my joan
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| Paper tigers exhausted, kings dethroned
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| All of this within my rhyme zone
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| (Darc Mind’s got a rhyme
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| We’re set to hit)
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| I got a rhyme zone
|
| (Darc Mind’s got a rhyme
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| We’re set to hit) |