| Ayo I spit it at you, hit you up
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| ILL Bill, Brooklyn be the place where I rest at
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| The foundation, the truth, the death trap
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| My uncle Howie on the couch, high on dope
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| 5714 Farragut Road, the projects I grew up broke
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| Used to read Spider-Man while my uncle burned holes in his clothes
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| Nodding out mid-sentence, eyes closed when he spoke
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| Coughing and choking the weed that he smoked (What!)
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| Speaking in non-fiction, y’all listening
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| Ear to the streets, it’s like they got the sidewalk wired
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| Underneath our feet
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| Young Vader, Young Bill, bastard swordsman
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| My mind is like the script from an Italian gore flick
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| I’m caught between worlds
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| I’ve seen light inside the darkness
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| But I still can’t decide which way to turn
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| I can’t decide which way to burn
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| So I’m a light it up a both ends and watch it unfurl
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| Caught between worlds, non phixion
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| So many people understand the same pain that I feel
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| They feel the same way
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| They think the same thoughts, though the names change
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| Same love, same hate
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| Same truth, same fate
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| It started back in apartment buildings
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| Poverty stricken, moms was sick
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| But I still smelled the love from the kitchen
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| Drugs in the hall, coalition, no pots to piss in
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| My pops never gave a fuck if I ate or if I die in prison
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| Survival’s iffy, the city’s gritty is in me
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| Turning soap into fifties, burning coke like gypsies
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| Frozen in time, a cold shoulder hope on the block
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| I told you to stop, I feel like I was chosen to rock
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| Grand-pops he caught a heart attack watching the news
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| God forgive a motherfucker now for stopping my food
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| I’m watching these dudes spit it out obnoxious and rude
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| Hunt the green down, scarf it down, mafia food
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| It’s all Pelles, veal paw feeding their bellies
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| Smoking wet blunts till we pass out and repeat the medley
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| Emotionless blade to the wrist I’mma cease to exist
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| For all my motherfuckers dead y’all could breathe through this
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| Caught between worlds, non phixion
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| So many people understand the same pain that I feel
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| They feel the same way
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| They think the same thoughts, though the names change
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| Same love, same hate
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| Same truth, same fate
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| I felt pain as a youth growing up in the hood
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| On the train by the booth kids got stuck for they goods
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| Spray painted sneakers, we took their chains and beepers
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| A bad ass in math class I had to change teachers
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| Feeling ruthless, useless like bulletproof caskets
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| A loose bastard watching M.A.S.H. |
| and Dukes of Hazzard
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| Spastic like the son of Sam with a gun in hand
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| Ain’t funny man, I got high and did the running man, wigging out
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| Never had the bigger mouth, I was the silent type
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| Living long days and violent nights
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| My hood was filled with murderers, drug dealers and burglars
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| Cold killers with burners kid, you ride up where the nurses live
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| If you ain’t play your cards right or spar right
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| You got laid up in a bed seeing God’s light
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| I lived the hard life, looting, boosting Timbs and gear
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| Cause I didn’t care, I ain’t have food inside the Frigidaire |