To the hiddip the hop it don’t stop
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I'm ready to blast
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Thank God for hip-hop
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Rap music brings the soundtrack to life
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I will give it a dimension myself, so check what's up
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Silence, the needle is reading, it's a different acoustics
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This auricle hides pearls in coils (simple)
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The current drove me (straight) ashore like a shipwrecked man
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And from the receiver I'm mentally swimming through Winamp
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I told you that I built my own nest
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Hooked up to 230 in the speakers
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Check microphone, check micro-microphone
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Hip-hop is dead? |
It haunts me there in Kielce
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He keeps his eyes awake, you know I'm drowning in sounds
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And now I spend my time in 22 hertz
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This is nonsense, don't turn up the equalizer
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I know an engineer rezaj a universal encyclopedia
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The first part for the producer is the kid's knowledge
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I enter the membrane area
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Come on, New York, New York
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New York State of Mind
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Check it out!
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I grew up in the cold neighborhood aura
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With rap, I see similarly homie contemplation
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In summer, like most, we rarely had a vacation
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But we shared our joy so often
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I grew up like most other housing estates
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Blocks - apparent evidence of claustrophobia
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At night, I soaked up the atmosphere of selected albums
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Hungry alone, I cut the New York style
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The plaster was peeling off, only soot, the dawn is surrounding
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I set the rhythm to an old tape and that's enough!
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Hip-hop was counting the pulse of the days of the week
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Only the beatbox served to feel the beat from within
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I'm addicted to the needle like a junkie
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Boom - rabid methods have gone to the pavement today
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I listened to rap every new year because
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Got my own New York on the handset, yo!
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What is? |
What is? |
What is?
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Though I've never been there, I know that much
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That with the beat I will discover the street like a GPS in a moment
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You are surprised at this privilege
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A wild area where whores around the corner, Beat street in Mecka
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Some Eve tempts you with a big apple
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Next! |
Heist, fuck you, you have to hide in the gate
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On the road alone in the evening, away from the street, you see
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I can sleep under the bridge, but in Queensbridge
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Burning barrels so warm my hands, fire
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My eyelids hurt, in my dreams I measure the end of the sunrise
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Messy blocks, dirt, dust, poverty, stuffy
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Dark Subway, yellow taxi course
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Taxi sounding Hot 97
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Bravado like Brown Sugar, almost like Mos Def
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In a sale a bottle in paper, a sheet in hand
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New York I will visit you again sometime
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The whole number at once |