| MC’s out there, head down and listen here
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| It’s J-Live and I brought Premier
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| And the crowd don’t +Hush+ no more they say yeah
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| Hell yeah! |
| With they hands up like they don’t care
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| True school styles light up the night like Times Square
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| GZA said it, this is not a eighty-five affair
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| It’s the grand openin of a long career
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| That’s been, planned and developed for about ten years
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| Let the scene blur out; |
| selector, press rewind
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| Just to show 'em who flat top groove in eighty-nine
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| Thirteen, still lacking b-ball skills to shine
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| but I got mine when I went home to write rhymes
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| Mastered all possible tactics of pause mix
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| Saved up — got my first Gemini starter kit
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| Like Rocky — these hands train on the cheap shit
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| So every other DJ they was bound to skip
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| Meanwhile now, for every new joint I caught
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| My MC style developed at the speed of thought
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| So hip-hop was the vessel that convinced my heart
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| Space and time make today’s sun, tommorow’s star; |
| The Best Part
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| Chorus:
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| Like this in the place y’all; |
| it’s like this y’all, ya don’t stop
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| I make it happen … On the mic
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| Do things for the kids →Prodigy
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| Like this in the place y’all; |
| it’s like this y’all, ya don’t stop
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| I make it happen … On the mic
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| God Bless the child that can write his own rhymes
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| Ten years, ten crates and ten rhyme books later
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| My history, daily renewed on it’s equator
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| Supreme mathematics is now the translator
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| As the stakes and the skills and the love became greater
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| For a artform to spread from East to Westside
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| The coast the hemisphere, look how hip-hop grew
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| But it’s still the proverbial sad clown of music
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| Exploited by many, understood by few
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| I do the knowledge to the game from a bird’s eye view
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| If I ain’t have the stomach for it I’d have been passed through
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| Cause every level I examined from A&R to zigga zigga
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| prove a MC ain’t got a God damn clue
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| So let the babies be great, break down the bare essence
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| and build upon styles that’s dope and brand new
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| Let no man put asunder to what the Bronx create
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| Manhattan make, Brooklyn take, and peace to Queens too
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| Cause the stren>h of any nation always been the babies
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| Let 'em learn from the elders that was strong and smart
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| So hip-hop'll be the music that still don’t quit
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| When the next batch of MC’s prove to be; |
| The Best Part
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| — cuts after 2/3rds
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| Yo, yo, turn the music down, turn the music down
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| We gonna end it like this in the place y’all
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| It’s like this y’all, and you don’t stop
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| Aiyyo; |
| East to West I’m a contender with the best
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| And more or less you’re a pretender just confess
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| Sell your mic and buy a bike because you’re weak
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| And take a hike when the J-Live starts to speak
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| Save that shit for the toilet and watch me flush
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| My style’s a snow blizzard, yours is just the slush
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| My rhyme’s a redwood tree, and you’re just sawdust
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| I’m like a pizza, and sheeit you’re just the crust
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| So now you see the place I’ve been is the place I’m at Dig up a seventh grade rhyme style and bring it back
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| So when you write your first rhyme tell me how you feel
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| Cause back then we wasn’t thinkin 'bout a record deal
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| But now adays when a kid wanna MC
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| It’s like just another job in the industry
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| So why you in it, for the pocket or the heart
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| Cause today’s star gotta be tommrow’s sun; |
| The Best Part
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| — repeat to fade |