| My people come from stars
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| But not that far away
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| But y’all know who we are
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| There’s really not much else to say
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| How you gonna race with a spaceman
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| Who walks with pride and grace through the wasteland
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| Do not attempt to embrace or shake hands
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| Unless you been blessed by Acey the Faceman
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| I’m from a place where the bass from the late jams
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| Snaps all the elastic and waist bands
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| And cracks through the plastic on raybans
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| Get your colorways dunked in a paint can
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| It ain’t the funk if you can’t dance
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| How you gonna front when you ranked last
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| Fuck a high class function with stank-ass snobs
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| My jobs getting drunk with the wait staff
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| Fuck a dunce from the late class
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| We in the lab with the bunsons that break glass
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| This is rap for the monks on the 8 paths
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| Those still getting crunk need a late pass
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| When we were kids we would listen and believe
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| We had a need that felt like a sickness to go a long distance
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| To fuck with an emcee
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| No prescription if this is your disease
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| There’s been a breach in the fortress
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| Nobody here speaks from the cortex
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| A leaked gem from the Swim Team
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| Is fiended for like tweak in the northwest
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| Not for real but it’s getting there
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| I’m ice cold like the tap on your Frigidaire
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| I kick raps when kicks snap tremendous snare
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| Causes the big blap that pauses the click track
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| If you run outta gauze then get the gift rap
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| Don’t talk tall then fall from the kickback
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| The Swim Team’s big black walk-on
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| Kicking facts with mismatched socks on
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| Impact like this track with dropped bomb
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| Yell 'fuck yes' if you know what’s next
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| Those still quiet are suspect
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| Butterflies in the belly stomach bubble upset |