| These niggaz ain’t thugs, the real thugs is the government
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| Don’t matter if you independent, democrat or republican
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| Niggaz politickin the street, get into beef
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| Start blastin, now a new cat is executive chief
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| With a, passion for heat you get, blast in yo’seat
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| Die before you crash in yo’Jeep, never passin in your sleep
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| like an old man, you ain’t a fool you got a whole plan
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| to conquer territories like Europeans who stole land
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| The future of your whole fam’hang in the balance
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| You the king, and your block is the palace
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| Y’all niggaz is the parliament, untouchable, spot unrushable
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| Keep your weight wet, call in collect to save a buck or two
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| Get mad, who the fuck are you? |
| What you gonna do?
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| Exactly what I thought — NOTHIN, in the sport of frontin
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| you the undisputed champion, I’m in a class you can’t be in My words is flesh like Jesus, the aquarian
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| Chorus: T. Kweli and Kool G. Rap
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| It’s just a chapter of the night, in the ghetto afterlife
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| Where you just seen or heard about or gonna have to fight
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| Where they sacrifice the life and niggaz see flashes of light
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| When you trapped up in the heights but clappers aimin at the wife
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| Yeah, dudes gettin money is still thuggin
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| Chicks gettin money is still ghetto
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| Still livin the whole thuggish stilleto
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| Your team let the metal burst before you take an L you raised in hell, let the dust settle first
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| Then you ask the question, snatchin the life of the innocent
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| Shit happens huh, a man’s respected by his actions
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| It’s the karma of the street, you try to meet the karma
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| while the karma sleep, yo it’s deep, but the karma can’t be beat
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| You don’t know your enemy, so you fightin with yourself
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| Relate to rap niggaz cause they writin what you felt
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| You got top shelf connects you gettin seasoned like a veteran
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| We suck the venom out the snake bite, without the medicine
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| We benefit from niggaz in tenements, dyin for benjamins
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| So bad that they know they own coffin measurements
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| Ghetto eloquence, in the moment of truth, don’t be hesistant
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| or fall victim to the element, word is bond
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| «So while y’all keep on fakin the funk,
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| we gonna keep on walkin through the darkness carryin our torches»
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| →DJ Premier
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| {*scratched* «I'ma give-give-give it to-to you straight»
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| «Straight up and down!"→DJ Premier
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| Chorus: T. Kweli and Kool G. Rap
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| Just another chapter of the night, in the ghetto afterlife
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| Where you just seen or heard about or gonna have to fight
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| Where they sacrifice the life and niggaz see flashes of light
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| When you trapped up in the heights but clappers aimin at the wife
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| Niggaz get caught up in the struggle
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| End up in court in trouble, sportin a bubble
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| Ford azure bubble, importer smuggle, forcin a rumble
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| Hit the blocks with a portion to double
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| Flip and get tossed in the huddle
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| Police with one piece short of the puzzle
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| It’s a hustle, peep the street life, they movin muscle
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| and the G’s’ll make your knees buckle
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| Tussle with heat until your feet stand in a pee puddle
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| Cheese double but all the speedy niggaz bleed puddles
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| Make the headlines; |
| some try to escape the fed time
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| Phone taps on direct lines — tec-9's with the red shine
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| Jake climbin through the bedroom blinds
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| Tryin to bring you to your deadline, it’s slippery when wet signs
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| Red time, wipe the sweat around your neck time
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| One shot spill out your red wine, rock shots to deafen your prime
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| Pieces of hot lead left in your mind
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| One slug to the left of your spine
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| Forever late to rest on the shrine |