| It’s like the slaves of a million people are in our hands
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| Chains are braided within our skin cause we’re stealing brands
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| Labels resurrected in urban places just to stand
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| Upon the shoulders of man — Atlas without a plan
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| Tasteless yet deep with ink — written in struggles
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| Hustling, labor favors resented pictures of contraband
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| Contrary to popular tales of Wonderland
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| I ain’t seen the chalice or Alice, the Holy Grail’s a sham
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| Is it the fault of ourselves, like in a gerbil wheel?
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| Verbiage and verses make it spin and still we’re standing still
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| And will it kill us -- the blacks, the whites, Koreans, Latinos
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| Whoever can rep the best where the hood runs through?
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| The contradiction of n!@a and yeah I use it to
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| To my demise — a miser who never changes his views
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| Proven that volumes of the truth are catalogued as fiction
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| Caused when they say the «fact will give it back to those who listen
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| Wishing my relevance bettered the better men to be the better man
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| Who never step on Weather-Men who praise the Grand
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| Talking away our obligations just for satiation
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| Placing complacency above what was the height and aim
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| In Our sole reservations- --stuffed ‘em and had ‘em twisted
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| Fist ‘em and fuck ‘em — ditched ‘em. |
| Never sever the quill
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| Shit — it’s my business
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| Never lay in waste to make them shiftless positions
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| Keeping it crucial, sifting heavy, losing trust
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| I need to get it down how to stay up
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| Native son
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| Yeah, Richard was right
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| Get ya' face left tight
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| Place From where pockets tight with the paper ain’t safe right?
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| Premeditated changes the status of a case
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| The onion could mean the ready base
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| Or the the curve of her ass shape
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| Straight lace like fish-scale after razorblades
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| With the majority hoping God will save from fairy tales in a dead man’s grave
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| And it’s Orson Welles — citizen Kane
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| Fiends Philistines at the gate
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| With Popes still burnin' witches at the stake
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| And that’s Sixtus when its Moscow time the arms Invictus
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| Beyond the limits of Lucius trust
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| Mad political they Polly for the interest
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| And still my eyes remain against
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| Sunrise and Mediterranean sunset
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| Holding Me Down…
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| Holding Me Down…
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| And then it’s sunrise
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| And the light kisses ya face
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| You know how it makes
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| You Dig under the covers and grab the pillow case
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| And point and pace, won’t wait
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| And last night date ain’t left smell of sex and after taste
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| Aches for an afterlife like fiends find escape after pipe
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| Sky high in mid air Prepared for the fall
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| At civilization’s dawn
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| No hocus pocus and magic wands
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| Just «NATO» squadrons
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| They Dazzle skylines
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| With drones And napalm son |