| Crosstown traffic, black to black, you shoulda seen her
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| Long and winding road to the arena
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| Crystal ball, I prophesized
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| What was on the horizon, forewarned y’all
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| Is it any wonder what kind of ground you goin' under
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| A September ender to March Madness, remember?
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| You never heard a murder, take it for example
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| Unsolved mystery, life lost in a funk sample
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| Enter the bandwagon, braggin' hangin' banners
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| Clearin' the way for younger MC’s and new hammers
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| What was criticized six years back is now back
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| In New York on the jersey, front and back
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| Feels like Tiger Woods got mad goods
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| Way up from the cheap seats comin' outta the hood
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| Race to the black seats amongst the wack seats
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| Be the hardcore alongside the deadbeats
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| The world lookin' on like spectators
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| At crucified gladiators and playa-hating alligators
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| Feels like a jungle inside where fish swim and birds fly
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| A man got a tendency to die
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| Man falls to the hands of man
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| But damn if I ever try to survive up at courtside
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| Four tickets to fly, rap or play ball
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| Do the game or duck that drive by
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| (Duck that down, G!)
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| Idols in the sky, look at how they died
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| Right before your eyes, real lives
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| Is your lord a God (Say what?)
|
| Or is your God a dog? |
| (Say what?)
|
| Idols in the sky, look at how they died
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| Right before your eyes, real lives
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| Is your lord a God (Say what?)
|
| Or is your God a dog? |
| (Say what?)
|
| The same league that defends be the same ones that do us in
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| There’s spies in the CIA and FBI
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| And them suites in that corporate sky
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| An eye for an eye, ain’t gonna target at the bad guy
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| Heard the war is on from the announcer
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| Bound to get the crowd bouncin', yes and it counts and
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| In this corner, representin' the best in the west
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| Died from four bullets, two up in the chest
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| Worshiped on the wrong side of them TV sets
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| Had mad fans comin' outta both sex
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| Sold, multi platinum, eight times gold
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| But died of homicide, twenty-five years old
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| Heard he died in debt, too; |
| I ain’t seen a winner yet, you?
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| The confused crowd booed the whole crew
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| In that corner, number one in the east
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| The peace cursed for life by mark of that beast
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| Raised by peeps, rode jeeps, and Brooklyn beats
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| Praised as a hero who came up off the streets
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| The crowd looks on, claimin' sides they don’t own
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| A house built up on their skulls and them bones
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| Knew it be a matter of time, the play by play
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| Two main rappers slain, so let us pray
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| Idols in the sky, look at how they died
|
| Right before your eyes, real lives
|
| Is your lord a God (Say what?)
|
| Or is your God a dog? |
| (Say what?)
|
| Idols in the sky, look at how they died
|
| Right before your eyes, real lives
|
| Is your lord a God (Say what?)
|
| Or is your God a dog? |
| (Say what?)
|
| With all the gunnin', crowd goin' crazy
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| Gettin' bigger, proud to be called a bunch of bitches and niggas
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| The ghetto stage fulla field nigga goals
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| Hip-hop shoot-outs versus those house negroes
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| Five bodies got on the shot clock
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| Runnin' down in the count made the scoreboard rock
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| The referees, the LAPD, the LVPD
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| Said they couldn’t catch what they could not see (liar, liar)
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| Question, was it bigger than the names
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| Not only in the game, but the game behind the game?
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| Down to the remaining seconds of this record
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| Anatomy of a murder, intensity of a mystery
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| Dead and gone as the heads looked on
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| Helpless as the atmosphere was preyed on
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| Investigating, and the winners be
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| Interscope, UNI, Arista, and BMG
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| Lost in overtime, the tombstone trophies for people that cried
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| And the rhymes that died
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| And the beats that deceased, may the best rest in peace
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| (Peace, G) Rest in peace
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| Idols in the sky, look at how they died
|
| Right before your eyes, real lives
|
| Is your lord a God (Say what?)
|
| Or is your God a dog? |
| (Say what?) |