| «What does it take»
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| «to be a great»
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| «MC»
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| If you ask me, it’s much more than Mastering Ceremonies
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| Because a lot of Masquerading Cornballs
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| Don’t realize it also means Mad Creativity
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| In this day and age of mediocrity
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| There’s two types of rappers that you’ll recognize and hear
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| But I prefer the ones with the lyrics of the year
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| Than the gimmick with the gear and the right puppeteer
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| Now you can be the next Rakim Shakespeare
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| You’re still 10 steps away from having a career
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| You step up the plate to earn respect from your peers
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| And end up on deck for the remainder of your years
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| I suppose this means greatness takes blood, sweat, and tears
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| It also takes an industry that doesn’t breed fear
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| Or pumping all this mindless crap up in your ears
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| And limiting in the contrast of what you get to hear
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| You got to recognize it’s a determined idea
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| A righteous young mind is a devil’s worst fear
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| But when you wanna give the people peace and satisfaction
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| Everybody’s mama wants a piece of the action
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| So now I fall victim to supply and demand
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| Immaculate conceptions, born illegitimate
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| Destined to be the greatest story ever missed
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| Which means its meant to be for whoever’s hearing this
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| When it’s all said and done it should be heard and seen
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| 'Til this cold-hearted game forces us to change teams
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| While the lust for the loot spreads out like gangrene
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| So the haves chase their tails while the nots chase their dreams
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| As the years chase the days, past the futures, meet fate
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| Like your firstborn, waiting for pop’s release date
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| Postpone, meanwhile, I accumulate means
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| To revise and renew what was just heard and seen
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| It’s been stated that I rhyme like God and I build like a poet
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| One hand wash the other like Lady Macbeth
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| Flip styles like Bela Karolyi
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| Warm hearted, cold blooded
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| I write like opposite left
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| I left opposites right where they left off
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| My rights left right-wingers left to right beside me
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| Left my right hand man cause he left what’s right
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| And I reserve the right to write 'til I’m free
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| Cause I free styles with my pen
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| That ya’ll couldn’t if you freestyled all day long
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| Literally, this literature designed for one orator
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| Stays on the head
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| Emcee’s emcee, that I be the emcee’s emcee
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| Cause I am saying what I am thinking
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| Except when my mind’s blinking
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| My eyes open even when my eyes' drinking
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| I’s a socializer, but more so with those wiser
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| Ask yourself why’s a music so misused it’s self contained
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| And not self sustained
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| I myself contemplate this 'til I make myself complain
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| Shall my raps stay maintained, wrapped in cellophane
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| 'Til they’re unwrapped by human consumers?
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| Emphatically no, so I rap wherever I go
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| And let it grow up in your brain like a tumor
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| Aiiyo, ya think ya really know me well
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| There’s more to me than ya mind got room for
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| And much much more than a clever verse or two
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| That’s all you know about me, you ain’t even knowing that
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| You think I give a fuck whether or not my record sells? |
| (hell yeah)
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| You’re damn right but you see that ain’t the way I’m keeping score
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| If one million people said it does that make it true
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| You judge my music by whether or not my pocket’s fat?
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| Well, fuck you
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| And the cash cow you’re milking (moo)
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| It ain’t yours but the job pays well, don’t it?
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| And if you’re lucky you can even get to taste a drop
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| We’ll see who’s happy when you’re old but you’re not grown
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| You see me, now? |
| Yeah you’ll see me later too
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| Fuckin you up when the vantage point change, don’t it?
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| I know what’s hip, but you determine if it’s hop or pop
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| You’re just a man without a voice, pass the microphone
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| I know the diff between written rhymes and freestyles
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| You see, for me, it’s like having sex or making love
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| And you should know by now I’m married to the pad and pen
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| But I’m entitled to cheat on her every now and then
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| Will your children know the hip hop history?
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| Will the songs you hate be shrouded in mystery?
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| Don’t step to me with your stats and your date smarts
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| You know your neighborhood by street signs or landmarks?
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| I’m not talking 'bout the first record ever made
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| I’m talking 'bout the first one that ever made you
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| The first records that I played never played me
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| And I can still play 'em today cause they stay true
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| You know this time I’m only speaking on the timeless
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| It makes sense now and then, yeah, now and then
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| Cause now it’s making picture perfect sense and then
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| It’s making picture perfect sense like it did now |