| «If only you believe, if only you believe, I believe we’d get by If only you believe, if only you believe, in miracles so do I»
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| uh, big up the boy J.R. Writer in the building y’all
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| Only this time around, it’s sentimental
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| You know what I’m sayin'? |
| It’s miracles
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| Uh, watch how I paint this picture, let’s get vivid
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| Yo, my vision is just ill, I’m picturin’it still
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| How my life revolves around a miracle foreal
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| Vision it just vivid, so I spit it through a deal
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| A song album, wow, these miracles are real
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| Still, yet through tragics, you seen it, bet it’s magic
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| I said «I bet that’s magic», it’s like he never had it (word)
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| To his fans in the stands it was just extatic
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| I know the back of his mind he thought he’d never last it (true)
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| But he did, and he lived, like you gots to be kiddin'
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| This song goes out to them tsunami victims
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| Who got ditched homeless, without a spot to live in Family gone, not a car knorr a pot to piss in Kids ya livin', let’s start basically rebuildin'
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| A couple days y’all managed to raise a couple million (that's crazy!)
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| I ain’t spiritual, but it had to be God’s wonders
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| That helped Zeke through gettin’shot and hit with a car bumper, I wonder
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| uh, I’m just tryna show y’all man
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| If only you believe man, this miracles are real man
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| Uh, I need you to zone out with me though, dim the lights a little bit
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| Uh, yo, check it Through the trial with a girl, gettin’outta Lapearl
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| I would never think that I would bring a child in the world
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| It’s a miracle from seein’the birth next
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| To seein’the burp yes, first words, even the first steps
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| Goo-goo ga-ga, who-who ha-ha
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| peek-a-boo, I see you, you-who papa
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| Guy I’m just God blessed
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| This whole song is based why you seen Kan West, surivive through that car wreck
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| For gettin’away where murderers get at you
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| To my man down on trial for a murder he didn’t do Whoever thought we’d get through slavery and racism
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| Slavery was racism, pacin’through, hey livin'
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| To Martin for heart, a heart that was smart
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| The proudest step to Malcolm X for marchin’his march
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| To the cops when there’s trouble at the spot on the double
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| To firefighters pullin’bodies out of the rubble, let’s sing
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| Whoo! |
| Hey Killa, hey Killa now I understand why you call me the writer of writer’s
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| I feel like a miracle in the making man |