| Just when I feel like turning my back,
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| The beat like a drug calling me back,
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| But it don’t really give a fuck,
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| If I’m rich or I’m poor, If I’m well or I’m sick,
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| (If I ever get a hit) Or if I’m blowing in the wind,
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| Check the man in the mirror, not quite looking myself,
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| Black rings under my eyes, vision of some bad health,
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| Haircut not in months, so my line is gone,
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| My teeth kinda yellow, so much time alone,
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| Its been like 2 weeks, new beats, lock in my basement,
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| Phone cut off, because I forgot to make a payment,
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| Email backup, cats need some litter,
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| I think my girl at her girl’s, be gone till the winter,
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| Or gone to the spring, can’t really remember,
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| Got a book full of rhymes, but my life is cinders,
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| Box full of books, books full of songs, Songs full of hooks, and my smell is
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| off,
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| Ain’t showered in days and hours,
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| My soul these beats devour, now I need some more,
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| No cane just bass, and I need some more
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| Like a john or trick, again rolling the strip,
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| I’m addicted to the rhythm and I need another hit,
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| Just when I feel like turning my back,
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| The beat like a drug calling me back,
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| But it don’t really give a fuck,
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| If I’m rich or I’m poor, If I’m well or I’m sick,
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| (If I ever get a hit) Or if I’m blowing in the wind,
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| Month later after the last binge, feeling myself,
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| Not dead prez, but visions of some good health,
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| Hit the Zoo for a fresh cut, then the mall for that smell good,
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| New kicks, new fit, Renaissance like I’m Q tip,
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| Man women boogie, and my girl is home,
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| G1 back on, and the love is strong,
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| No beats in weeks, and no relapse signs,
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| No falling off the wagon, occupying my time,
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| Bolted up the basement, my life in Sunshine,
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| No FM in the van, talk shows when we rolling,
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| On my days off, trying to stay off the net,
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| Block the all the music sites, just news to check,
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| Everything going good, no need for the pen,
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| Keep notes in the phone, no records to blend,
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| On a cold turkey diet, get a ring at the door,
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| A cd full of beats, as I drop to the floor…
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| Just when I feel like turning my back,
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| The beat like a drug calling me back,
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| But it don’t really give a fuck,
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| If I’m rich or I’m poor, If I’m well or I’m sick,
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| (If I ever get a hit) Or if I’m blowing in the wind, |