| And it’s like that I’m telling ya
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| That’s the way it went down, down down
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| And it’s like that I’m telling ya yo the truth is out my story is found
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| And it’s like that I’m telling ya
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| That’s the way it went down, down down
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| And it’s like that I’m telling ya, yo the truth is out
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| My story is found.
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| It’s way past my curfew in an emcee circle
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| Rhyme dispersal, the ones without rehearsal
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| And if Pop’s found me, I’d get smacked hard
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| By that tree branch from my own backyard
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| Cause it was all about textbooks and grades with A’s
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| Something hard to juggle as a hiphop slave
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| Skating on pave, or lounging after school with my crew
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| Writing tags on the bus, or finding ways to rock a shoe
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| Paying dues no return no concern back then
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| Like fat kids in lunch lines at shows packed in
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| For rhyme battles with ill punch lines at crunch time
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| By unknown emcees thinking why aren’t they signed?
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| Then I’d pick up a pen and express
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| Rhymes were nonsense but nonetheless were off my chest
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| While some thought I should stop wasting my breath
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| Dent on confidence I put my pen to rest
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| So what’s left but getting high every day
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| Rolling blunts with vegas, smoking profit away
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| Cypress Hill on play singing stoned is the way…
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| Singing stoned is the way…
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| And with mad smoke came the need for entertainment
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| But Hiphop radio was now playing some strange hits
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| Clubs gettin' closed, cause money was tight
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| Folks would rather find some ass. |
| than that hiphop trash
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| And can I blame em? |
| I’m sayin', things were rock bottom
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| With exceptions of few, my head was rarely nodding
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| So I got in a zone and blew the dust off my notepad
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| Arm wrestled with words, struggled with vocab
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| Then wrote, slowly steadily something something
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| If lyrics were harsh the beats had to be bumping
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| No frontin', right off the bat some turned their backs
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| But many felt the same which put my name on the map
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| And brought me down my coast, Japan and back
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| Mad support from locals cats, like homies at Stacks
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| With blunts burnt out at the end of its road
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| Blazing trails on a spiritual path, with new goals
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| And that’s how it went how the plot unfolds
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| They asked about the story so let it be told
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| Singing one for free cans and two for mean streaks
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| That’s the very track that put my past in the streets
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| Deejays copped doubles to juggle the beats
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| Using language that managed to let their hands speak
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| To peeps that showed love but not all felt this rhyme sayer
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| Non believers, killing vibes like Cal Tjader
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| Cause of my race or the way I appeared
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| But still I ran the race when placed to the rear
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| Imagine a gook, a youth jumped by truth
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| Kicked out spots at age five cause eyes looked glued
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| Mentally struck, forget peaches and cream and such
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| But it built my biceps and today I lift up
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| Jotting down facts and pouring out my soul in these raps
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| Fingers crossed, till herds are left with words that last
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| And beats that make dancers put soul in their movements
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| Wreckin' shop from the bay, La back to Brooklyn
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| Kids scratch temples, scientists bite fists
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| Kero’s on the scene shining light through mist
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| Cause if I’m not fueling the flame I’m like a puppet
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| My mouth might move but I ain’t sayin' nothing
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| So stay tuned to see how this ends
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| Sayin' peace, sincerely yours, till we meet again
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| Sayin' peace. |
| till we meet again
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| Sayin' peace… |