| They go one for the Prophet, two for Islam
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| Three for the Khutba from the Imam
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| Four for the mother that birthed my frame
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| Five for the father cause he taught me game
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| Been 'round the world, songs are all the same
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| Sometimes when I’m asleep I still call your name
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| Back when I was young I used to dream of fame
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| Now they all point they fingers saying who’s to blame
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| Mothers put their girls into pigtail curls
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| Fathers teach their sons how to shoot their guns
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| They say, «Boy don’t never cry control your emotions
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| Just take it like a man, make your stand»
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| They say, «Sex and violence go hand in hand»
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| For every man blessed there got to be ten damned
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| Expand through the depths of space and time
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| Standing three eyes blind on the firing line
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| Word to my man divine, come too far
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| Singing la ilaha il allah
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| Twelve rakahs short on my full day’s prayer
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| Just hoping that the lord got some mercy to spare
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| They go one for the ummah, two for the deen
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| Three for the angels, four for the alamin
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| Somewhere between totally obscene
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| And perfectly clean, got a Babylon feeling'
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| Wounds that need healing', truth need revealing'
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| Hands need washing' from all the dirty dealing'
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| From the floor to the ceiling', from the stage to the door
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| From the kings and the queens and the slaves and the whores
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| For every lost cause where the martyrs are found
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| That funky little sound, that make you want to get down
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| Somebody told me once, love makes the world go round
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| Now kids they carry pistols out on the playground
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| That profound, gone too far
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| Praying to the light from a burned out star
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| Put your lights on, put down your crosses
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| It’s time to tally up your wins and your losses
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| They go one for Scott La Rock
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| Two for Pac and B.I.G
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| And three for all the mothers who got graves to dig
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| For all the mothers who got graves to dig
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| For all the mothers who got graves to dig |