| You are not alone, if I wanted to, I could palm the globe
|
| And leave a hole, like a bullet to Bin Laden’s dome
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| You’re about to enter the thoughts of a last prophet
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| I walk with alien currency in my back pocket
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| My brain lacks logic
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| Like One Love’s laptop when it last crashed cause somebody spilled a glass on it
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| Or left a lit spliff on the back of the mixer
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| And now the Jack and the liquor have the accidents happenin' quicker
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| I’m not insane, I just rock with a clot to the vein
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| And a lot of pain got me gobblin' shots to the brain
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| I stay panicked, I watch humanity damage and manhandle the planet
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| But nobody seems to understand it
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| Life is a mess, and I’m likely depressed
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| Like I’m watchin' all my family members fight to the death
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| And in the midst of this, rap is fallin' apart
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| Kids are sayin' absolutely nothing and callin' it art
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| Fuck swag if ya whole flow trash, ya voice heinous
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| Every verse poorly executed: Troy Davis
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| But in battles we can get it on
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| As long as you strapped like an Indian baby and bring extra arms |
| This is a massacre, a massive attack
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| So bad even a pacifistic pastor would have to react
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| It’s only gettin' hotter, say goodbye to the morning
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| Cause the world that you will die in is not the one you were born in
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| Hello, I am Kinetics, I am a computer
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| I am here to move you
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| What’s going on? |
| I am insane, shots to the brain
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| Kinetics & One Love
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| Hello, I am Kinetics, I am a computer
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| I am here to move you
|
| What’s going on? |
| I am insane, get to know my name
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| Kinetics in ya headphones
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| I’m holdin' a gun, so I know opponents will run
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| I been sick since humans had opposable thumbs
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| I been sick since I picked up a pen in the third grade
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| My word play plays with words in absurd ways
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| But rap today is all little kids and mermaids
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| Congratulations! |
| You finally hit your first rave
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| Man, I’m sick of these students with the shittiest music
|
| Talkin' about they ball hard like they were the first to do it
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| Like they were the first person to hit a virgin
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| Drop a whole album with a bunch of topics no one is concerned with
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| C’mon son, look at ya life, it’s so bland |
| You really think you’ll be respected by a gown man?
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| So what if you can buy everyone at the bar a beer?
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| You haven’t written a meaningful song in ya whole career
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| I promise you will not have relevance here long
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| What happens when that partying element wears off?
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| You ain’t a performer
|
| You just stumble across bars like them three hikers captured on the Iranian
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| border
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| Fuck with my producer, you could get ya ass trampled
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| Tackled in a massive avalanche of brass anvils
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| Ya whole production is a bad example
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| You not a musician, all you do is just push buttons and stack samples
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| Hand me that last handle, I’ll face that Jack Daniel’s
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| And I’ll still out-rap all you rappers who act manly
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| Fuck ya little baggy of Addy, yo you could have it back
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| Come to my apartment I’m bumpin' off of a platinum plaque
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| But actually, so let it speak for itself
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| Cause we have a track record unlike anyone else
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| So I take all your advice and I throw it inside a garbage truck
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| You tell me to dumb it down cause you aren’t smart enough |
| Go 'head and hate it, I don’t need you as a fan
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| You’re just embarrassed I dropped a reference you didn’t understand |