| In the time when hip hop was strong
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| The Supahuman Klik ruled the land
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| Bringin that futuristic hip hop, presently in time
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| The first lieutenant in arms of the Supahuman Klik
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| Was the all mighty, all powerful, Miz Marvel
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| I think she can describe it how she does better
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| Thought I disappeared now that the smoke has cleared
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| I come from times with inabitions, face to face with fears
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| While shootin stars wishing that I can shift my gears
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| So I raise my glass eye, I drink to that, say cheers
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| And let the fire water wash away the tears, burn like salt
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| On open wounds, thoughts consume all consetions
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| Give birth to these rhymes like an oral C-section
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| Uhh, positive connection throughout the galaxy
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| Time to switch to reality, make proper arrangements
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| For the souls of fatalities
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| It’s the same for niggas that stuck with that slave mentality
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| Or these wack ass rappers, they got no originality
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| But my mentality, helps me travel around the galaxy
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| Time gets shorter, I’m on the water, run insanity
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| It seems like everyone was after me
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| Three’s a nasty girl like Vanity
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| Make niggas wild, I smoke la, anything to keep my sanity
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| Ain’t got no friends, everyone with me is family
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| If they standing next to me, nothing’s what it seems to be
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| Sending energy, when I rhyme, but no time for idol questions
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| If freestyling is my bible, when I fall in hip hop sessions
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| Of the tribal blessings, lessons to be learned
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| Respect had to be earned and not given
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| On the fourth of them but not amongst the men that living
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| Guy collides, when selfish minds can’t asked to be forgiven
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| Ain’t no turning back the hands of time
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| When past spirits have risen
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| Black, black, black
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| Verbal, power, verbal, power
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| Power of the moon and the force of a sonic boom
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| Help me heel like battle wounds, to that shit I’m immune
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| We come thru like the first platoon, into smoke filled rooms
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| Into it seems like magic mushrooms, from the womb to the tomb
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| I got a meetin in the ladies room, I be back real soon
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| O-o-oh o-o-o-oh
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| And all pro, precise position, like a crossbow
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| To strike the deathblow, continue with a never ending flow
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| Friend or foe, gas heads go from C.E.O. |
| to skid row
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| See the toxic green flow, it’s poison waters overflow
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| Paint a mental picture, lyrical Michaelangelo
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| Words pierced with the sting of a scorpio
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| Beats mad bong, to collapse the Walls of Jericho
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| Overflow and explore, I hope you got your blunts rolled
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| Cuz this is the same, no matter which zip code
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| My minds pro, bitches is robbed
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| Suckin the diamonds out your ear lobe
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| I keep it tracked like a barcode of Illuminati
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| And fight these devils back with the Code of Hammurabi
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| I strike with magnum force, send you on a collision course
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| With no remorse, I tap the source and knock you off ya high horse
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| While beats and rhymes have intercourse to reproduce their first born
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| Ever sworn not to make the same mistakes as there parents
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| Written on there face, time worn sharpen then a poison desert storm
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| Step on first month Capricorn, quiet storm
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| Jeans and boots my everyday uniform
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| Elegants ruffness and innocence, if ever given a form
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| Hell have a fury like a women scorned
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| My niggas strife to perform, I struggle to break the norm
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| Give me any platform and I perform lyrical firestorms
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| I make it hot, you keep it lukewarm
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| From hotels to college dorms, keep these niggas souls torned
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| Lot of other people, other groups aware of these consciousness
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| Virtually impossible to defend against (repeated over and over) |