| Yo yo yo, check this out, we got a special treat for y’all here at poetry night,
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| this evening
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| This next guy… is about a hundred and fifty something years old,
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| he goes by the name of Bass Reeves, and he wants to spit a piece for y’all,
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| tonight, check it out
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| I wrote songs for days 'til my forearm wouldn’t raise
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| So I tilted my head and let the words pour onto the page
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| See you’re a man who stands with no signs of a chance
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| To see me live, you gotta put me three lifetimes in advance
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| I got plenty inside me that not many can copy
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| When I start dropping, the planets stop spinnin' to watch me
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| I track and catch thieves, I’m Bass Reeves
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| I laugh when the trash emcees get mad and ask me to leave
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| I slap most of your team and laugh at the remainder
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| Put a gallon of liquid in a half gallon container
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| You sit on a stool, listening to the young gettin' schooled
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| I’m such a fool, I wrote down an unwritten rule
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| Then his comprehension quickly underwent double admonishment
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| I’m comin' with the confidence to put trouble on punishment
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| When my anger is fed vein, drainage is red
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| Had more flames in my head than dames in Wilt Chamberlain’s bed
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| I stay ready to start fights like Fortnight, you barely can talk right
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| My coldest writings gave a block of ice frostbite
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| It’ll be a lot of lost life when I chop off mic tops and blow poisonous
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| thoughts like an exhaust pipe
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| You’re still wishing my skill slips, but don’t forget that I’m the guy that
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| apparition kids visit on field trips
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| I pack a hundred sheets to every new place
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| But my pages are so sacred I carry each one in a separate suitcase
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| I salivate to abrogate when in a battle state then travel to my laboratory base
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| and calculate a atom’s weight
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| Cubic zirconium couldn’t be phonier than these erroneous ceremonies only a fool
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| would like
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| So don’t be a tool to the truth-less 'cause I’ll show you what it produces,
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| then bury you underneath a wave of ruthless acoustics
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| You can feel me to prove it so future humans can view the footage
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| My tongue be moving like the blade spool on a NutriBullet
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| Facts are refutable, remains are not suitable
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| A view after removing you from the musical crucible
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| Section my in fool any for needed is protection, I’m flexin'
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| So I said that line in the wrong direction
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| Redeem your sight 'til you finally see the light
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| My extreme workout routine at night is breaking up hyena fights
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| I’m still a one man army
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| My senses so strong, I could be sleeping, feel a strand of lint land on me
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| Mics choke out in my hand from the clenchin'
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| When I walk in my room to write, the pen stands at attention
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| My folder is worse, thirstin' for a prolonged verse
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| The empty pages fight each other to get wrote on first
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| I’ve laid in a glass case since grade school, waiting for emcees to be placed
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| in with me like mice used for snake food
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| No wonder the thunder is dangerous comin'
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| I invent words and make up new languages from 'em
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| My titles are organized and compartmentalized, alphabetized so that they’re
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| easily identified
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| My creative inner drive and mental vibe is deep
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| Not even oxygen’s allowed inside with me when I’m in need of privacy
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| My hand is robotic so no matching my writing speed
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| Hired a specialist to come out each night and rewire me
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| I’m not even in your ride but sitting in the driver’s seat
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| I write about unborn people’s lives in my diary
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| Bass Reeves
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| Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Bass Reeves, give it up for Bass Reeves one time
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| y’all, c’mon, y’all can do better than that, Bass Reeves everybody, yeah, ay,
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| he don’t sound like K-Rino to y’all? |
| Maybe it’s just me, whatever |