| «Yo, Jackson!» |
| «A 231 549»
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| «Yeah, close four! |
| Comin' down!
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| My homeboys in Clinton and Rikers Island
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| All Crichlow! |
| A 5 991 301
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| The penitentiaries, Mumia, Mutulu, Geronimo, Sekou
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| All Close five! |
| Comin' down!»
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| The political prisoners, San Quentin
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| «Look at Satan» «I see him»
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| All the jailhouses, I’m witchu
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| Yeah, one thug, one thug
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| How do we keep the music playin'?
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| You’re listenin' to the sounds of one thug
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| One thug, one thug, How do we get ahead?
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| You’re listenin' to the sounds of…
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| I wake up early in the mornin', mind state so military
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| Suckers fantasizin' pictures of a young brother buried
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| Was it me, the weed or this life I lead?
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| If daytime is for suckers then tonight we breathe
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| Out for all that, knowin' that this world bring drawbacks
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| Look how they shiver once I deliver these raw raps
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| Meet me at the cemetery, dressed in black
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| Tonight we honor the dead, those who won’t be back
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| So, if I die, do the same for me, shed no tears
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| An outlaw thug livin' in this game for years
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| Why worry? |
| Hope to God, get me high when I’m buried
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| Knowin' deep inside only a few love me
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| Don’t rush me to the gates of Heaven
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| Let me picture for a while, how I lived for my days as a child
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| I wonder now, how do we outlast?
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| Always get cash, stay strong if we all mash; |
| hold ya head!
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| How do we keep the music playin'?
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| Yes, you got to hold ya head!
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| How do we get ahead? |
| Hold ya head!
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| Too many young black brothers are dyin'
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| Yes, you got to hold ya head!
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| Livin' fast, too fast
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| These felonies be like prophecies
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| Beggin' me to stop ‘cause these
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| Lawyers gettin' money every time they knock us
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| Snatchin' pockets lyrically, suckers flee when they notice
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| Switched my name to Makaveli, half the rap game ghost
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| Exposed foes with my hocus-pocus flows, they froze
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| Now suckers idolize my chosen blows
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| And mo' money mean litigatin', mo' playa hatin'
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| Got a cell at the pen' for me waitin'—is this my fate?
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| Miss me with that misdemeanor thinkin', me fall back?
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| Never that, too much Tequila drinkin', we all that
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| Make them understand me? |
| Hell nah, this ain’t my posse
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| Everyone with me is family, ‘cause everybody’s got me
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| Watch me paint a perfect vision, this life we livin'
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| Got us all meetin' up in prison
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| Last week I got a letter from my road dog, written in blood
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| Sayin', «Please show a playa love"—hold ya head! (Hold it!)
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| How do we keep the music playin'?
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| You got to hold ya head!
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| How do we get ahead? |
| Come on, hold ya head!
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| Too many young black brothers are dyin'
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| Yes, hold ya head!
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| Livin' fast, too fast
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| The weed got me tweakin' in my mind, I’m thinkin'…
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| God bless the child that can hold his own
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| Indeed, enemies bleed when I hold my chrome
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| Let these words be the last to my unborn seeds
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| Hope to raise my young nation in this world of greed
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| Currency means nothin' if you still ain’t free
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| Money breeds jealousy, take the game from me
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| I hope for better days, trouble comes naturally
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| Runnin' from authorities 'til they capture me
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| And my aim is to spread mo' smiles than tears
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| Utilize lessons learned from my childhood years
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| Maybe Mama had it all right, rest yo' head
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| Tradin' conversations all night, bless the dead
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| To the homies that I used to have that no longer roll
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| Catch a brother at the crossroads
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| Plus nobody knows my soul, watchin' time pass
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| Through the glass of my drop-top Rolls; |
| hold ya head!
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| How do we keep the music playin'?
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| You got to hold ya head!
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| How do we get ahead? |
| C’mon, hold ya head!
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| Too many young black brothers are dyin'
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| Yes, hold ya head!
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| Livin' fast, too fast
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| You got to hold ya head!
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| How do we keep the music playin'?
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| Yes, you got to hold ya head!
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| How do we get ahead?
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| No matter how hard it get, feel me? |
| (Come on)
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| Get the weed, drink a drink, read a book
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| Watch the stars, get some pussy—whatever! |