| Worker by day, artist by night
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| Who I am?
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| Without glory or rank
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| Half-man, half-mason, half-salt, half-cement
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| Half-star half-former, half-mic' building (?)
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| Half-ghetto, half-site, half-shovel, half-pepper
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| Worker artist forget if I'm lying to you
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| Who I am?
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| They told me my whole life was just a handful of fishnets
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| I'm too far from the forecourt for the MCs to become my brothers
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| That everything I touch remains gold
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| If my mouth hadn't given birth to a compressor
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| That I put on everyone's where everyone sees the loose
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| And where we puff under the caniar or in the shower
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| Let my khey unclog earwax at the tip
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| Let all my clothes schlingue and under my helmet my forehead oozes
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| But where I am the routine settles over the pallet trucks
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| Wires are displayed above my head
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| That everything I listen to I unbox it
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| My mind is framed: that's what concrete gives me
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| From one life to another I cover myself
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| Between lightning and blowing the hammer or the feather for me it's the race
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| But I breathe and will exceed these standards
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| And the pride of this world is to tell me that I love this kid's life
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| What if the whole city defines me
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| When everyone in the forecourt is looking at me
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| What if my life is made of determinism
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| The pride of my road I keep
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| I'm just a worker artist without glory and rank
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| Without regrets or remorse
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| I am a forgotten artist without glory and rank
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| I was told to go back to the codes, that my music is dead
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| That time passes quickly and that today things go wrong
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| That nostalgia at my door of this beautiful time
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| As beautiful as she is, she will only have the semblance of her burst
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| I was told to follow the rules and the environment hinders me
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| Between their enclaves I only saved a piece of my soul but me
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| There are so many crises without tears and so many swimming artists
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| So many sacrifices, daily vices but no one is watching
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| But where I am the music settles me over the small rooms
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| Passing faces and voices too
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| A single heart and taken from melodies and density of life
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| So dance here if you feel like it
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| I move on and sing despite the doubts
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| Between crowd and blow careers or death: this is what it costs me
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| But I breathe and yearn for the greatest number
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| And the pride of telling me that my music will remain true to ours
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| Half-man, half-mason, half-salt, half-cement
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| Half-star half-former, half-mic' building (?)
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| Half-ghetto, half-construction site, half-pain, half-chili
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| Worker artist forget if I'm lying to you |