| Sand, you a hard brother to figure out
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| Recitin' Roots verses takin' curses and «nigga» out
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| Can’t even bring ya to clubs
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| Unlimited women out
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| DJ spin' any ignorant rhythms you wiggin' out
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| Isn’t it a drag, draggin' round that bag that you livin' out?
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| Cause you don’t have any pad any flat any crib or house
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| That beat of your own drum sounds more like a bounce to a different couch
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| Yeah, but I can rhyme though
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| You’ve been rockin' them sweatpants for 10 years
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| What’s up with that beard?
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| Boy is that weird
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| This isn’t a war zone, fatigues aren’t tact here
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| Your wardrobe screams I’m the brokest cat here
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| It screams it loud and clear
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| You need a real career, this isn’t North Korea
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| You’re livin' in a capitalist state
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| And your capital’s scarce
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| Yeah, but I can rhyme though
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| Some are rather direct
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| Some would rather to eschew
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| Some would rather to wreck
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| Some would rather to rescue
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| When none of that works
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| Cats will gather to test you
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| But fans will gather to check you
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| A melody pure and true
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| Sand, you’re buggin' not gettin' on Twitter
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| Think of all of the fans who’d love to monitor
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| Your each and every move, maybe you should consider
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| The web traffic you’ll lose for tryin' to have dinner
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| Without an interruption every second I doubt
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| You’ll mind the extra attention when your record is out
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| Don’t you feel your reluctance to travel the regular route
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| Could leave you left out?
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| Nah, cause I can rhyme though
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| Ummmmm
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| You’re not exactly a backpacker
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| You’re not a gang banger
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| You’re not a swagger rapper
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| You’re not a hustler but you’re not a slacker
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| Not a half stepper but you’re not a kappa
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| You’re not a trapper even though you kept a Trapper Keeper
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| You don’t hug the block or smoke a lot of reefer
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| You’re not a pimp, you’re not a hipster
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| Even though you got a lot of sneakers, you don’t fit the box so how you gon'
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| get out the speakers?
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| Good thing I can rhyme though
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| Some are rather direct
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| Some would rather to eschew
|
| Some would rather to wreck
|
| Some would rather to rescue
|
| When none of that works
|
| Cats will gather to test you
|
| But fans will gather to check you
|
| Our melody pure and true
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| You’re too big, you’re too small
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| You’re too dark, too short, you’re too tall
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| You’re too poor, too old you’re too young
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| You’re too slow, you dunce, you’re too dumb
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| And life ain’t fun, but here’s a little fun fact
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| What you’re tryin' to get done, nobody’s ever done that
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| How ridiculous, reachin' for stars
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| You can’t even stare at the sun jack
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| Yeah, but I can rhyme though
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| You know what? |
| Fine; |
| shine
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| Maybe I’m mad because your future’s brighter than mine
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| And you man enough to slander the standard standin' in line
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| Cut the complainin' and the moanin' and take a hold of your moment in time
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| And that’s a thing some people despise
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| Not even that they tryin' to pull you down, they really just tryin' to pull you
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| aside
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| Anybody who says you’re out of your mind
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| For tryin' to be somebody, somebody you gotta remind
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| That… |