| That was me in BK on Atlantic
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| Never looked both ways, ran in traffic
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| Pops went away but I stayed, vagrant
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| Placed where the steel and cement became nature
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| Love what you did with the place, it looks gorgeous
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| Cityscape where the blood of good men courses
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| And the dreamers are bull trapped in porcelain
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| Take a knee to the gods and get horse shit
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| Wanna live for the thrill? |
| They’ll arrange it
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| Got a bevy of imps to spit hatred
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| Shit’ll get in your head and cause panic
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| Have you desperately begging to get famous
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| Get your dignity dirty and left orphaned
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| Sanity on the fringe of distorted
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| Who are they to just take shit and hoard it?
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| Who am I that I don’t get my portion?
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| The most impressionable minds
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| Get molested and informed by manipulating forces
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| Don’t fret, little man, don’t cry
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| They can never take the energy inside you were born with
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| Knowing that, understand you could never be poor
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| You already won the war, you were born rich
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| You can only take the energy you had
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| Going back to the realm or the home where your lord is
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| Whoever, whatever that lord is
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| Couldn’t give a fuck if you ever made fortunes
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| Fuck anyone ever tryin' to run that bum shit
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| Send 'em to the flames where the orcs live
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| Them and the lost minds thinking they’re smarter than us
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| Don’t understand love’s importance
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| And we can weaponize that, bring 'em back to the truth
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| Where the ashes and dust got formed in
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| The beat breaks and your teeth break
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| Keep your canines embedded in my knuckles as a keepsake
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| It would seem your veneers just mere souvenirs
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| Falling out your mouth and on to the landscape
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| Me and El-P do the secret handshake
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| Then I pummel punch a pumpkin head punk in his pimple face
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| 'Til he’s punch drunk 'cause he’s sweet as a pound cake
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| (Ain't he pussy, Mike?) Yeah, El, I’ll say
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| Into the wild, wild style ghetto child running wild
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| Where the lions and the owls stay
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| The powers that be even offered up reprieves
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| Told us they ain’t take us out if we bow to our knees
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| But they can give that to the kings and the queens
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| And the worshipers of idols and followers of things
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| 'Cause I would rather be in the jungle with the savages
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| It’s kill or be killed, and I’m working with the averages
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| My professor emeritus
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| Say we been cursed being brought to the AmeriKKKas
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| How you raise a whole human single parent
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| No marriages, no sense of heritage?
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| Planned Parenthood helping plan miscarriages
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| But I’m lucky mommy already had a narrative
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| Product of a teenage love, my arrogance
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| Derives from the pride in the job my parents did
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| Named Mike, I was told it was godlike
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| Even danced with the devil, came out alright
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| Okay, honor y’all? |
| No way
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| Still spell AmeriKKKa with the triple K
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| Word up to Spice 1 and O’Shea
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| And any MC peeping what I go through
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| Real rap, my last line’s so true
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| Rest in peace to Pimp C and Camu, too
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| We do it for you |