| Aceyalone:
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| It’s not a problem that I can’t fix
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| Cause I can do it with my bag of tricks
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| They’re playing for keeps and for kicks
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| But they’re building with popsicle sticks instead of bricks
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| The time ticks, the atmosphere gets thick
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| I breathe in, it makes me sick to my stomach
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| If you got any kind of fix I want it
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| Sometimes I think the attic’s haunted
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| But it’s not, it’s just me
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| So I keep strutting and keep pushing my buttons
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| But I’m not about to be pushed over the edge
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| I made this pledge
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| Not by you, my brother or by Sister Sledge
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| Now I know that I’m not your boss
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| And I’m not trying to floss or come across lost
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| I wipe the frost until the glass is clear
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| And I exhaust the possibilities of showing fear
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| Cause the bigger the scare, the heavier the tear
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| And the wetter the drop and then you flood the crops
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| And we just don’t want to be flooded
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| We cut it when we can’t cut it we strutted we stay budded up
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| We keep it up and cut it up until we gotta shut up
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| Haiku De Tat, make my music for the people who wanna get down
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| Abstract Rude:
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| It ain’t a lunch time I like to miss
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| I ain’t a punch line type lyricist
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| And if you had beef you’d fight with your fists
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| My people suffer from lack of knowledge and righteousness
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| Streets so wild we developed a frown
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| And a keen sense for knowing when it’s going down
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| Play it cool
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| Say some shit that surprise me, my face don’t change
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| Serious 'bout them chips like a poker game
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| I come frequently like these Oakland trains
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| I freestyled it in a show and never wrote it the same
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| Aaron Pointer came to reign and say something
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| Eddie Hayes stays a little ways from me
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| The west side combination is legendary
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| Home studios, cause by any means necessary
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| Completed projects is my productivity
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| Gimme food smoke and electricity
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| And if the power is ever cut off
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| I got a generator up in the loft
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| To stay energized, my music finds a way
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| To survive through the times and with the kinds today
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| L.A., what a wild place to be
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| Styles by Ab, Mike Troy, and A.C.E
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| Mikah 9:
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| Indeed, indeed, Haiku De Tat what we could do witcha'
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| Men at peace for y’all to call entities
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| Quicker on the draw the sickest thing that you ever saw
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| So for all our trees grow and grows in my backyard
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| Remember me, sometimes I like to act hard
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| That’s just it, it’s an act but don’t confuse that
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| If you choose to chit chat with a mack fully packed
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| You’re bruised, black, blue and blurple
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| You’d never get a chance to bust back
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| I don’t have to be rappin' or dancin' in a circle
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| To make the people react
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| I could be enjoying the b-boying
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| I’m already on the map and made my money living fat
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| No need to profile and flash stacks
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| I’m way past that
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| Master Card and a little cash for snacks
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| Munchies, after partaking from breaking nugs
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| Down out of fat bud stash stacks
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| Ahh, I do my floor work on linoleum
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| Exploring the crevices of my woman’s ass crack
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| I rhymin' in the SF studio on Napoleon
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| And I really love this jazz track
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| I’m running game now I’mma win
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| I’m on my last lap
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| You wanna dance with me?
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| Fast tap chance jacking for ASCAPs, checks, advance
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| And that’s wack, I mash back |