| Yin for Yang, I walk on a line
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| Between ghetto slang and stimulation of the mind
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| Life is a labyrinth of dollars and cents
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| As I quest for cream, through the steam so dense
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| From the sensimilla I puff 'cause the tunnel is tough
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| Some lick shots with sound, some’ll bust from the cannon
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| Experts original man’ll examine
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| I am in fact lackin' confusion, as to what’s real and what’s illusion
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| I come from Illadelph where ya health, you never take for granted
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| As hot as the equator in a cypher 'round the planet
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| Or abnormal, niggas appearin' out of portals
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| And demandin' your soul, who controls The Eight Immortals?
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| But the number 7, in this continual maze
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| Where nights fight with days
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| Within my mind marijuan' blaze
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| And some say I should change my ways
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| But it’s hard to hear the phrase through the havoc and haze
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| Thought’s style of lyricism’ll never cease to accele-rate
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| It’s the great lab dweller
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| The mentals of The Roots are beyond any computer
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| The judge prosecutor or the drug distributor
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| Respect to the ex-Lex Luger, my nigga Malik B the intruder
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| Phila 5th Dynasty’s the future, and DJ Krush is the producer
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| You’re dealin' with the ginseng Roots, we get ya renaissance looser
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| Remember me, the Thought, I represent essentially and mentally
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| Eventually, you’ll mention me as most high
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| My decibels are most fly
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| I’ve come to paint ya Thoughts Black, yo, Krush, where’s it at?
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| The Roots bring it from the Phila 5th, spill the gift
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| The melody of a felony is straight off a cliff
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| Now, can I get a witness to dismiss Christmas from the myth list?
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| Man, that’s bogus, let’s try to stay focused
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| You would think it was the 4th of July
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| 'Cause in Illadelph, a round of applause light up the sky
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| Why? |
| Don’t ask me, subtle attitudes sometimes nasty
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| Foul-mouth bitches walk around, lookin' trashy
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| Bimbos talkin' about, «Where's the indo?»
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| Crackheads leavin' babies unattended at the window
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| To see death, and brothers with strikes who got 3 left
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| I’m tryin' to make it, 'cause if I don’t, I’ll probably take it
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| But perseverance is a virtue
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| The person that you think you hurtin' might hurt you
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| Your celly might jerk, too
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| Perhaps I’ll go to court this time when I’m summoned
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| But I’m a rebel to the system, so I might not be comin'
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| So, if I fail, man, just give out the bail
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| It’s just more time to write another story to tell
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| Ill elements drop intelligence
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| Black Thought, Malik B fuck up they irrelevance
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| We got strain on the brain from bodies left in the dust
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| Man, just leave it to us, look mane, you aim and I’ll bust
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| Fuck betrayal, just trust, over tracks we lust
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| With DJ Krush from Japan, so no more need to discuss |