| It’s illogic, warrup blockhead
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| Yo, check me out
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| Conscious with a purpose, the undeniable
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| Viable franchise, spit thes
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| Primadona rhymers lost they lip gloss in their purses
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| Now their stories make up don’t glisten as much
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| Even know they touched up they blush babblin
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| On the road traveling
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| Thinking of ways to make my days more extravagant
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| Heard that crime pays, but it’s only a below average
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| Rather grow old, chillin with my children
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| Eating sandwiches on the porch with my beat up
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| Than be in the streets with savages looking for scraps to eat up
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| Though patience is a virtue, I’m running out of it
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| They gotta get, back to the basics,
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| Cause walking in place starting to wear
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| To thread on my exits
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| Ageless pages, keep the eternal
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| It’s a challenge within itself
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| A rich man is one with knowledge, happiness and its health
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| That’s obvious, common sense, way too intense for settle this
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| You riding the things for lighting incense
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| While I make my pick
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| Side chosen, sparkin wicks, set of dynamite sticks I’m holding
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| T minus 10, and blowing
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| Watch for the shrapnel that spreads
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| Try to adapt to length and the lax of luxury
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| It seems that when I woke from my dreams
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| Nobody’s touching me
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| Have to guard to turn my dreams to reality
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| Suddenly gluttonies, everybody’s favorite sin
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| Mouths full with them…
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| Open your eyes, the rich get their checks from the wealthy
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| To have a clock and then watch them break your spirit
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| But you left with no options when you acknowledge a glass ceiling
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| Shattered shards, slicem e up something crazy
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| But baby I’m healing fast
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| Every lap is a band aid, I never embrace fear
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| Cause I’m beyond all the things that man made
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| A diggin the life of the nicest right that you never heard. |