| You ready?!
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| Lets go!
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| Yeah,
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| for those of you that want to know what we’re all about
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| It’s like this y’all (c'mon!)
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| This is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill
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| Fifteen percent concentrated power of will
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| Five percent pleasure, fifty percent pain
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| And a hundred percent reason to remember the name!
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| He doesn’t need his name up in lights
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| He just wants to be heard whether it’s the beat or the mic
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| He feels so unlike everybody else, alone
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| In spite of the fact that some people still think that they know him
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| But fuck em, he knows the code
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| It’s not about the salary
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| It’s all about reality and making some noise
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| Makin the story — makin sure his clique stays up
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| That means when he puts it down Tak’s pickin it up! |
| let’s go!
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| Who the hell is he anyway?
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| He never really talks much
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| Never concerned with status but still leavin them star struck
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| Humbled through opportunities given to him despite the fact
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| That many misjudge him because he makes a livin from writin raps
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| Put it together himself, now the picture connects
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| Never askin for someone’s help, to get some respect
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| He’s only focused on what he wrote, his will is beyond reach
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| And now when it all unfolds, the skill of an artist
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| This is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill
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| Fifteen percent concentrated power of will
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| Five percent pleasure, fifty percent pain
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| And a hundred percent reason to remember the name!
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| He’s not your everyday on the block
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| He knows how to work with what he’s got
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| Makin his way to the top
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| People think its a common owners name
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| People keep askin him was it given at birth
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| Or does it stand for an acronym?
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| No he’s livin proof, Got him rockin the booth
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| He’ll get you buzzin quicker than a shot of vodka with juice
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| Him and his crew are known around as one of the best
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| Dedicated to what they doin give a hundred percent
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| Nobody really knows how or why he works so hard
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| It seems like he’s never got time
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| Because he writes every note and he writes every line
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| And I’ve seen him at work when that light goes on in his mind
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| It’s like a design is written in his head every time
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| Before he even touches a key or speaks in a rhyme
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| And those motherfuckers he runs with, those kids that he signed?
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| Ridiculous, without even trying, how do they do it?!
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| Eight years in the makin, patiently waitin to blow
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| Now the record with the Virgins takin over the globe
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| He’s got a partner in crime, his shit is equally dope
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| You wont believe the kind of shit that comes out of this kid’s throat
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| This is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill
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| Fifteen percent concentrated power of will
|
| Five percent pleasure, fifty percent pain
|
| And a hundred percent reason to remember the name!
|
| This is ten percent luck, twenty percent skill
|
| Fifteen percent concentrated power of will
|
| Five percent pleasure, fifty percent pain
|
| And a hundred percent reason to remember the name! |