| It’s palm Sunday, riding a beat at my feet
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| They’re throwing loose leafs they want me to freak
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| Cuz this week my rhyme’s hot, but 15 minutes is what I’m told
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| Till I drop to the cold so watch it all unfold
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| Like palm sunday
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| I walk lightly, slightly on this path of ink the pen shaft I sink
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| Between the margin with my jargon so they still can’t distinguish
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| The English I broke they’re busy falling from the mic
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| Like a bike that got the spoke tripped up I ripped up
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| The do’s and don’ts breaking every single guideline
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| And left it for them fools stuck on the sideline
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| Thinking they’re butter but they’re only cookie cutters
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| Trying to be down and fit in the mold they’re bought and sold
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| Like some pawnshop gold, I wonder when they’ll learn a lesson
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| Thinking their skills are wrapped up in their possession
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| But the same ice the rock’s the ice they slip in
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| They’re the scratch on hip-hop that got my needle skipping
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| They need to dip in some funds and ones to buy a clue
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| Plus a crew then I’ll rip it on a topic that’s new but |
| Seriously they just got a bad rap literally pitifully
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| Jumping onto a beat they find defeat in the end
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| They’re living pretend my words will descend
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| While my spirit’s heading home you watch it ascend
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| I’m placing tidbits of knowledge in these college rules
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| While you follow jewels and loot with top hats and suit
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| You’re just a prostitute selling your soul for control of the world
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| But what’s it take to realize you made the worst mistake
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| See you can stack material but that ain’t clever
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| There’s only one thing that lasts forever
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| The crowd loved me but now I hear them screaming for Barabbas
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| Yo it must be from the time they caught me rhyming on the Sabbath
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| Man these kids ain’t nothing but some Sadducees and Pharisees
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| Breaking tradition’s obviously grounds for heresy, comparing me
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| To anything they can from wyclef to everlast
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| They must be uncomfortable with the fact I’m in a class of my own
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| With light shown to mainstream but the same thing’s happening there
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| People just love to compare but I care less |
| I’m busy trying to bless the device
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| With words echoing true from b-twice
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| I’m trying to freak the metaphor but more I find myself at war
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| With people supposed to be my family that still ain’t understanding me
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| I plan to be a man fulfilling destiny and stressing me
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| Can’t disguise the fact you’d all be falling off like leprosy
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| Accept you see before you fall off you’ve got to be on
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| You ain’t at emcee status you’ve barely reached the peon
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| Sending in your demos that you did on 4 track and you’re first to call me wack
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| But yo I guess you’ve got your back pack and shell toes
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| With fat laces and a record done by company flow
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| I guess that means you must know
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| Please, you think I base my livelihood off of what you say
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| Or rearrange my word play we can spar and make you call me sensei
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| It’s Sunday and one day I hop you see
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| You can’t live out your mic fantasies through me |