| This world is my cave
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| And the cave molds the background
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| of a picture painted by you
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| (distorted lyrics that are hard to understand)
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| Hey yo it’s time
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| (Yeah it’s time)
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| Yeah it’s time
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| (Hey yo it’s time)
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| Hey yo it’s time
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| It’s time to clean MTV outta your ears
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| And listen up like a good student
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| Eyedea and Abilities is here to turn robot? |
| back into humans
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| I gotta speak til the facts get heard
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| I collapse the last fractured nerve
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| This is much more than just your average rapper’s words
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| Passing verbs and laughter hurts (?)
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| The passengers to my head flight
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| Dead right if a clash occurs that ass get served
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| Better luck next life
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| I plaster bums (?) to the wall of shame
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| Cause their songs are all the same
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| Playin, talkin how you platinum on the first record you ever made
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| And the underground MCs these days don’t seem to make the grade
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| Too busy bein bitter bout they situation
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| to create a greater way to break their chains
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| To that phase (?)
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| And I don’t trust the major mutt (?) label
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| Pets (?) talkin dog shit
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| I’ll break your neck frame your nuts
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| And hang them up in your boss’s office
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| See me auction off hits easy
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| For low prices
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| I flow nicest
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| Write at night to fight off poltergeists
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| Catapulted by some iris (?)
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| The hopeful light has defied (?) width of the whole crisis
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| Souls' likeness (?) collide with logic and modestly deposit
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| metaphysical greetings
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| And I didn’t come alone
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| Abilities annihilates the Techs while I wreck the microphone
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| We’re in your zone to keep your earth warm
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| And give you what you thirst for
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| This is Turntablism and Lyricism
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| Imperialism
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| First Born |