| Son, we got you programmed like a beat
|
| When I press snare, yo, guard your grill, press kick, you move your feet
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| You can’t compete
|
| I got my hydrants parked on every street
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| I’m federal nigga, son of sun, come close and feel the heat
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| I am the streets
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| The white lines only separate me from me
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| You hydroplane in false god’s name and still crash into me
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| Sign and tree
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| Mountainside; |
| guard rail; |
| into the sea
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| They thought they stole you from my arms then carried you to me
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| Here’s the key:
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| DNA encoded in a beat
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| White rocks in a vial, nigga, ain’t got nothin' on me
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| Bitch I’m free
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| Ask these editors at MTV
|
| Far as they know, they’re publishing some new school poetry
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| Let it be
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| Cause even that will do to turn the key
|
| Doorways into other worlds, the truth shall set you free
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| You are me
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| I am you, but also I am he
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| Shepherd of a bastard flock that grazes in the streets
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| Feel the beat
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| Nod your head, lean back, yo, touch your feet
|
| Let me see you pop that thing right there girl in your seat
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| Feel the heat
|
| Count this page amongst your whitest sheets
|
| Comfort in my every word, slide under, countless sheep
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| Hail Mary, Mother of God
|
| Got the whole host of angels shuffling in my iPod
|
| Niggas learned to raise their voices when I lowered my rod
|
| Staff of Moses, pharaoh knows it, son, my word is my bond
|
| Tune my heart with mind
|
| Speak my nature, divine
|
| Called this shit into existence back in '79
|
| With the future in my pocket tightly gripped like a nine
|
| Keep my finger on the trigger waitin' for the right time
|
| Ancient niggas align
|
| Path of cosmic design
|
| Blood of kings cause Saturn’s rings, don’t need no diamonds to shine
|
| Yes, the reason for the season, ornamented, divine
|
| Coded language of the mystics with my fist in the sky
|
| Keep your head up
|
| We represent the real, my nigga, dead up
|
| Book of the Dead, history bled, this nigga fed up
|
| Led us to despair, some into prayer, and they won’t let up
|
| Until they got us worshiping them false gods instead of
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| The realness
|
| God of the streets my niggas feel this
|
| We nod our heads and worship through beats
|
| Go ahead and kneel
|
| It’s the love that makes the cipher complete
|
| And it’s displayed through the way the bass line marries the beat
|
| Hail Mary, Mother of God
|
| Got the whole host of angels shuffling in my iPod
|
| Niggas learned to raise their voices when I lowered my rod
|
| Staff of Moses, pharaoh knows it, son, my word is my bond
|
| Tune my heart with mind
|
| Speak my nature, divine
|
| Called this shit into existence back in sev-sev-sev-sev-sev
|
| With the future in my pocket tightly gripped like a nine
|
| Keep my finger on the trigger waiting for the right time
|
| Ancient niggas align
|
| Path of cosmic design
|
| Blood of kings cause Saturn’s rings, don’t need no diamonds to shine
|
| Yes, the reason for the season, ornamented, divine
|
| Coded language of the mystics with my fist in the sky
|
| Keep your head up |