| Once upon a time there was a kid named Michael
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| He’d write about his life, but with so many typos
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| Like when he wrote live, it should have said love
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| And when he wrote hit, he really meant hug
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| But he couldn’t dig a hole that’s already been dug
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| Like you couldn’t smoke a bowl, and not call it a drug
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| His story so imperfect but that’s what made it beautiful
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| At times like a circus but that’s what made it suitable
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| At a school, where kids used words like «dudacle»
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| Awesome, and radical with care-free attitudes
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| But as life went on, he put trust in songs
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| Like when he heard BAD, he put gloves on his palms
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| When Biv sang Poison, he new jack swung
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| And when he heard BDP, yo his brain went num
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| That’s when he got struck by that hiphop bug
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| And those that had it, were the only ones that new what’s up
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| The beginning of a story he’d write in bed
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| Which developed into tears and an ending that read.
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| Check the rhyme
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| And check the rhyme one time
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| Now check the rhythm
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| It’s the life of mine
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| Check the rhyme.
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| And check the rhyme one time.
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| I feel delivered.
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| When this life ain’t mine
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| As the story unfolded, the plot did thicken
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| When michael played with dirt that soap couldn’t rid him
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| Hanging with a crowd, that clouded his decisions.
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| They doubted he was Christian by the way that he was living
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| But not a misfit, to most your average Joe blow
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| Minus a bit of lying or a run in with Po-Po
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| And time to time put his mind in slow-mo
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| Puffin marijuana till motivation was no-show
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| Then took his mental photos and wrote em in a notepad
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| Utilizing metaphors and rhyming his vocab
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| Unsigned, hella broke, and still at his folks pad
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| He crawled back to church home turf since dads gonads
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| Mike knew life meant more than getting by
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| Living for fame, money, girls or getting high
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| He heard good deeds could never get him to heaven
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| But only through grace and the son that God sent in
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| And that’s when, he felt shivers set in
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| Palms sweating, off his feet it swept him
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| A concept so deep he couldn’t sleep
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| He fell to his knees, as tears hit the concrete.
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| And it wasn’t concrete where mike was headed next
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| But in faith he stepped as he developed this text.
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| Now this concept not complex
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| But in context a contest
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| A constant conflict with conscience to conquest
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| The accomplice promoting Mikes destruction
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| Peddling greed, self righteousness and corruption
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| But Mike couldn’t win or even be that good kid
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| He needed help, to find out how he could live
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| He wrestled pride, until a few left hooks hit
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| And accepted Christ, and everything he could give
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| But Michael didn’t care as people smirked and stared
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| Some gave him props but inside Michael always cheered
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| He knew his choice was right
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| And at times thought twice
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| But he believed the word cause the word it brought light
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| And he got it, he’d always be a man of sin
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| But as long as Christ atoned, Mike was free within
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| So he grabbed a pen, without hesitation
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| And called his friends bout plans, that he’d be breaking
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| And wrote this story, he kept in his head
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| Entitled, «this life ain’t mine» and it read |