| I got a cure
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| I got a pure way of speaking to the people on tour
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| I got a little truth if you’re simply unsure
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| I can fit it to your mind’s contour 'til your spine wants more
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| I’m fine on the floor, but I’d rather stand
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| Rather hand what I can to child, woman, and man
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| I’d rather build a fan base slow
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| Rather teach you, I reach with a grand grade show
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| I’ll give it all I got and I need none back
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| I’ll spit it 'til it’s hot and all I need’s one track
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| I’ll give it 'cause it’s been given to me, I’ll give it cuz I’m s’posed to
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| Give it to you free, don’t matter if I know you
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| Love gotta show through, me and my whole crew
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| Fill your bank account better than some dough do
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| Cities that I blow through go cold crush
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| Those that I touch gotta feel a slow rush
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| This is a treatment, a method which takes time to master
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| Stylistic shapes and form, out of the norm
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| Big Rec, Braille, and Manchild bringing it on
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| Armed forces forced to forfeit against the linguistic swordsman
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| Crack a cookie for a fortune, biting my style is forbidden
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| Wisdom contain, in chambers, locked in my mentality
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| How I kill the beat with skills elite is an unsolved mystery
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| Solved, by the detective, inspecting the scene with keen eyes
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| You write rhymes with green eyes, I write to free minds
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| In neon signs, easily noticed, among the chaos and madness
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| You paperweight, plastic, never gonna be classic
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| Class is in session, I cipher with freestyle methods
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| That paint the wall better then your pen sketches, catch this
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| Sales pitch that Braille rips, microphones immensely
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| If I blow they’ll probably call me, the next Elvis Presley
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| Press me on CDs and Wax, tapes are obsolete like your style is
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| Your style is obsolete cause you have none
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| I scatter mine, climb the ladder, continue to grow
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| Your performance ain’t live, you’re just putting on a show
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| I’m showing and proving, shaking and moving, the medication is soothing
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| Rocking often, dropping wattage, to unclog the blockage to your heart
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| That’s the target that we’re aimed at, the truth hurts
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| That’s how we bring the pain and the treatment on the same track
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| This is a treatment, a method which takes time to master
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| Stylistic shapes and form, out of the norm
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| Big Rec, Braille, and Manchild bringing it on
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| This is a treatment, pay attention to the lesson at hand
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| Grand or a million couldn’t buy these stats
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| Yeah, you writing exact, now we bringing it back
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| I wreck shop by nature, direct shots, I? |
| you
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| Direct spots, behavior inappropriate for label on microphones
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| I major in mastering the vision, giving 'em spirit limitless
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| To rhythm I’m indigenous
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| My stimulus is impetus impeding all the impotent
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| They who force the ignorance ignite, I do diminish men
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| On mics I might just finish them
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| Proper treatment of the culture’s missing, intimidation
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| Can’t fit in when witnessing, this African American
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| Guy and he’s warrior, breaking through corridors
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| Of the fallacyville who ain’t listening
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| Sticking in the fickle with the tickle four
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| Passage, I frustrate the fake and jacks, the art of rap I’m taking back
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| Flow ambidextrous, left, right, back into the jab
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| Testing this to get you left, right back into the lab
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| A lesson in emceeing, wrecking style, vomit, spots
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| Sparking the conclusion of a riot like Ohmega Watts
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| This is a treatment, a method which takes time to master
|
| Stylistic shapes and form, out of the norm
|
| Big Rec, Braille, and Manchild bringing it on
|
| This is a treatment, pay attention to the lesson at hand
|
| Grand or a million couldn’t buy these stats
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| Yeah, you writing exact, now we bringing it back |