| Yo, when the bass thump, the place jump
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| Like it’s way crunk, yeah,
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| Fake punks get they face lumped
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| Sent to the most high, by the most fit
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| You gotta do, fuck that almost shit
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| The fam is close knit
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| You diggin', know the clock don’t stop tickin'
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| Glocks still spittin', the whole block politickin'
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| Lik epresidents with they minds dead on arrival
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| Leaving no evidence of a struggle for survival
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| Songs relevant to the times like the psalms read in the Bible
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| Stepping to this leaves thoughts in your head 'it's suicidal'
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| It’s the T to the A-L-I-B the deep rooter
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| Rolling with my wanna battle cats who chief buddha
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| And see through the overspecialized, underpressurized
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| No lie texturized, emcees who got the masses mesmerized
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| with empty rhetoric, they better quit
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| Niggas so hollow that they echo like sentiments
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| Nowadays rap artists coming half-hearted
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| Commercial like pop, or underground like black markets
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| Where were you the day hip-hop died?
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| Is it too early to mourn? |
| Is it too late to ride? |
| (6x)
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| Kwa is chillin', Tone is chillin'
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| What more can I say, we stay building
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| And make killings
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| Take children through the wilderness, by the hand
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| It’s a great feeling, show 'em how to be a man
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| Exactly, pack trees in my khakis
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| My sound fat like a Neve while you thin like a Mackey
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| C’mon, shine so bright when I walk by You got ta squint like the motherfucking sun in your eye
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| What! |
| Say somethin, you stay frontin
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| It ain’t nothing, let off like I’m big game hunting
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| Me and Tek stay way blunted
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| Wave running on beaches with white sand
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| With a slight tan
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| Smack the mic stand with my right hand
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| When I’m excited
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| Leave you so far in the dust that you forced to bite it On fire like property lost to riots
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| Yo, ain’t no stopping us when we all united |