| Produced By: Thes One
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| Double K:
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| 'Uh uh lets take them out of a B-Boy experience, Hey yo Thes One how you like
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| me now?
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| Thes One:
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| Yo I don’t know how you like us now?
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| Thes One:
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| Eyes stay so cool he freezes coliseums
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| Man the kid shines so bright you sneeze when you see him
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| He still hasn’t changed trading records for per diem
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| Guaranteeing new additions to his wax museum
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| Man I’ve seen it, his collection grows its quite incredible
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| Hunting down them records like the damn things were edible
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| In this context he’s too complex you’re Oedipal
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| Ya’ll mother fuckers only produce poetical perfection
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| In hypothetical selections for your general public expecting a soft subject
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| Man its medical touch not budget but worth it
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| Impregnates the track, jump back and then birth it
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| Word is born, now his word plays all day
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| At that fancy day care over by U.C.L.A
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| While he sits at home, making beats drinking a Heiny
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| Puttin' new brakes on drum pads like Meineke
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| I finally see him one day chillen with his group
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| He was eating at El Cholo sippin' tortilla soup
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| I said 'Thes, yo I’m feelin' all them old jazz loops
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| Can you make me up a track man I got a little loot'
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| He said 'thanks but don’t thank me thank the fore-fathers
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| They deserve the credit now theres no body bothers'
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| I pause 'thats true' he took a sip of his too
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| He said 'I'll dig you up a beat like Super Mario II'
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| I was like 'word, dude I’ll pick up the check'
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| He’s like 'don't bother, pull up a chair lemme introduce you to my partner'
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| Double K:
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| Ready, Set, Go! |
| this mans a vet-pro
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| Call him humble, call him psycho his mother calls him Michael
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| He might go Locooo, you’re fakin' perpetratin'
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| Trickin' off and fresh hatin' you can see the best play in the feel
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| Look he’s reeling in, what a combination seen him signing up soldiers
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| To start his new rap nation, he said 'time is wasted'
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| And I could see it in his eyes he was fed up with the politics, wack beats and
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| lies
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| Heard a lady say 'Sock it to me' and brothers was pumpin' their fists
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| On some Reverend Al Sharp shit, better now than not to talk shit
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| He walkin' in, like them D.U.I games mind frame and revolution
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| And you know he’s got solutions, not worried about pollution
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| Afraid for his art form, matter o’fact he’s kinda shook up
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| His people want the hook up, his people better look up
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| Cause its about to go down, like the thrill of the nights over
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| And never sober when he is he’s kinda mean, loves his high-hats clean
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| Stays on the fly rap scene he’s a fighter and a lover
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| Reminds me of Danny Glover tellin' ya’ll there ain’t no other
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| He don’t spit hot bars him and his friends hop bars
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| Personality rock star, slash mactavist after this
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| I’m gonna sit and think about what I learned
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| I can still hear his voice and smell the Budda he burned
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| He said 'earn respect, learn to respect and you’ll succeed'
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| True indeed man I gave him a pound he said he’d break it down and sell it
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| How you like him now? |