| A child was born in the East one day
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| Moved to the West coast after his parents passed away
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| Never understood his fascination with rhymes or beats
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| In poetry he was considered elite
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| Became a young gangster in the streets of L. A
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| Lost connections with his true roots far away
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| But no matter the job or crime
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| He never lost his hardcore obsession to rhyme
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| New York’s hip hop movement broke loose
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| DJ’s cut records, raps had the juice
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| Since busting rhymes was his natural thing
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| He was crowned the west coast MC king
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| But after his inauguration there was a rush
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| Of wack rappers with one intention to crush
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| This master rapper and take his throne
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| A simple job, he had no crew, he stood all alone
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| Assassins came in groups of one through five
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| With raps no mortal MC could survive
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| But he showed no mercy, he rapped blood thirsty
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| Battling from Friday on through to Thursday
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| Never losin a bout, never ending in doubt
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| Every confrontation K.O. |
| knock out
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| On his never ending journey to the T.O.P
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| The L.A. player M.C. |
| ICE-T |