| Attention players
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| The rules of the game have now changed
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| People are no longer afraid of the truth
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| You call yourself an MC? |
| Hi-Tek, hit 'em with the.
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| Hi-Tek on the boards, Kweli in the booth
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| Make 'em feel it in they bones with the.
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| Come down yo.
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| Like, oh my God, what do we have here?
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| My man is on fire like the Ohio Players
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| Throw yo' hands in the air, keep 'em there if you with me
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| The MPC-60 is rare, but it still sound cripsy
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| Kicks and snares take 'em from elsewhere, samples is hard to find
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| We don’t just act divine, we are
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| We walkin upright, you lack spine
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| I don’t just write rhymes
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| I send force through pipelines to like minds
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| My light shine so bright it do be, vital like lifesigns
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| The night time is the right time for a battle so it’s special
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| When cats don’t just say your joint is hot, cats say «Yo I respect you»
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| Put yo' fist in the air when you hear the manifesto
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| You had any prior doubts to my skills? |
| Time to let go
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| Hi-Tek, the beats is right beside the soundgarden
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| Tracks get in the vein like heroin the way heads be noddin
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| Officially, people love our company like they was misery
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| I’m known to blast MC’s with the cannon of history
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| Specifically the ones who forgot where they come from
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| So it’s the light that they run from like roaches
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| Whenever the truth approaches
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| I attack the track ferocious, never lose my focus
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| Hold this true hip-hop, closest to my heart, and you know this
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| Nowadays it’s hopeless and my diagnosis
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| Is to grab the microphone and be the dopest, you can quote this
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| Niggas sound like they injected with collagen
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| You followin these hollow men no honor when
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| You bite off more than you could chew or could be swallowin
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| Sorry man I ain’t got no pity for you to wallow in
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| Quit hollerin before you get stomped out with my Solomon’s
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| All the way from Lynn Street, to (?)
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| Always bringin you hot shit, aiyyo we promisin |