| Destined for greatness
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| It’s all but facts
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| The one who surpasses
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| In this realm remains nameless
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| It’s alright, I’m cool
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| So there’s a lot of raps
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| Quest for the holy grails
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| All fall without a map
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| The bread trail has not yet set sail
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| All these years and my soul still ain’t up for sale
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| Boundaries, I knock 'em down see
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| I’m granted rite of passage hostiles
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| When I pass through the Panama Canal
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| According to a source, according to some
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| Fuck all the hearsay my flow still as gritty as the slum
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| No occupant anymore
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| Of living by the sword or dying by the gun
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| Prodigal son
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| The high priest hold an elite seat
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| At the table of bars and beats
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| For all that I’ve achieved
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| Life’s flickering, my name headlining a banner
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| Up on the marquee
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| No brutal bully can fuck with me
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| O’s a virus for rappers
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| If it applies to you writers
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| Bacteria to your body, a case of meningitis
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| So, children of a lesser god
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| This is what I’m destined for
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| An ally to an X-Men, enemy to the Sentinels
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| La la la la la
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| La la, la laaa
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| From NY but my spirit’s straight outta Soulsville
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| Oh oh oh oh ohhh
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| Oh oh, oh ohhh
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| Watch me, clutch a cobra
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| Squeeze out the life in him
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| Extract the venom
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| And use it against who’s sinning
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| Adrenaline pumping, heart thumping
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| My pulse racing
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| Fear of the unknown makes me more brazen
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| My eyes for change, appearances I sustain
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| Frequent fly miles are logged before I’m off the plane
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| That’s right I’m still fly!
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| Made a deal with father time
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| And it cost me a dime
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| Like Preem' and Royce I’m in my prime
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| While some are lullaby’d
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| Out the game as if they’re road kill
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| From NY but my spirit’s straight outta Soulsville
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| When I’m in the zone
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| Words are captured on the track as if it’s on film
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| Or visualised on stills
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| The product is packaged, boxed
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| To listen it or buying it
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| Don’t stop 'til my flesh is cold in the ground
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| Which will be no time soon
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| As far as I can assume
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| But if not, you still feel my aura in the room
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| Poster child of vocal style
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| Both live and in the booth
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| Never faulters when I’m riding the groove
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| When I embark on a mission
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| It’s well thought 'cos I’m a tactition
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| A practitioner craft in Gods image
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| La la la la la
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| La la, la laaa
|
| From NY but my spirit’s straight outta Soulsville
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| Oh oh oh oh ohhh
|
| Oh oh, oh ohhh |