| Let’s go right back to the start
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| What better way to begin
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| Before too much of the corruption, the temptation and sin.
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| Before the gloss was taken off, back to sand castles and grins.
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| Before the world we were living in became riddled with Ritalin
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| I had a very normal birth, no wise men did attend
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| Born into my family as son, brother and friend
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| I had a normal start to life with a very normal infancy
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| And over the years many events did influence me
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| But there’s one that stands out now with a special place in my mind
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| And the more times I think back the more new memories I find
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| When I was four years old, out in France, I almost died.
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| A wave swept up to the shore and took me back for the ride.
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| And in that moment of fear I gazed below normal tide
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| That’s when the depths of the ocean showed what was really inside.
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| I saw a man sat just below the surface on a rock.
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| And his wisdom filled gaze withdrew all panic and shock
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| And unlocked an inner calm that let me float down to his depths
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| Without any flailing shaking arms or panic filled breaths.
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| I swear we sat for hours before words were introduced.
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| Just relaxing in a world, below the fights and abuse.
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| Below the weapons of war, below the cars and the ships.
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| And then when he felt I understood he slowly parted his lips
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| «The pen is far mightier than the sword», he said,
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| As he stabbed his pen in my leg and the ink mixed with the red.
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| «With this action I inject the gift of knowledge instead
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| Of all the other cluttered thoughts that will clog up your head
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| But if at any point you take the spoken word just for granted
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| These words will stick in your mouth and fall out broken and parted»
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| It didn’t hurt for some reason but I could feel a change inside
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| But I hadn’t really understood what his words had implied
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| I thought id wait for his next words with my mind open wide
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| And with the guidelines that he gave me I would try to abide
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| Again much time passed with silence being the topic
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| But the serenity was such bliss I had no words that could stop it
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| Then after what seemed like a lifetime had passed
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| He stopped and looked right through me like I was made up of glass
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| And at that very moment I was grabbed from this landscape
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| As I left this wise old figure I quickly prompted a handshake
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| And I was carried back to shore, my life saved by my own dad
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| With no memory at the time of the experience I’d had.
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| And so I went on with my life these things locked up in my brain
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| I grew up no different from the rest, everything just stayed the same
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| Until one day I realized sometimes my own speech was erratic
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| Like the needle on my record would get all caught up and static
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| And at school, this affliction didn’t make things too easy
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| An easy target so the kids would sometimes laugh at and tease me
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| I guess there’s no denying this made me stand out from the rest
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| But that kind of thing has never fazed me. |
| I just took it in jest
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| Sure the broken stammers of a youth can kind of bring some attention
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| But the sympathy of a teacher can get you out of detention
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| And this continued, until I reached a certain age
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| Until I started to thrive for knowledge from every word and every page
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| All of a sudden, the words would just flow off of my tongue
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| When I got bored of how one sounded I’d just learn a new one
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| I started listening to all these people who showed great use of each word
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| Feeling the buzz with every single line from Gil that I heard
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| The way he manipulated the language and really made it develop
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| As he told another story from 125th Street and Lenox
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| And Mr. Mojo Risin', the American poet
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| Had enraptured my mind with words and would never know it
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| I would sit in my room for hours just listening out
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| For every underlying meaning in the words he would shout
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| Then I’d put on The Specials to hear of their social commentary
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| You couldn’t help but get drawn in, sometimes even involuntary
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| And the way that Rakim would take my mind on a journey
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| To a kind of lifestyle and scene that never used to concern me
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| A completely different world to the one that I lived in
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| But I could connected to the language and the passion within him
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| So I started to write, inspired by those here before me
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| Id found an outlet for thoughts a way of telling a story
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| So I wrote and I wrote until I felt it was time
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| To put some of this stuff on tape and then I started to rhyme
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| Once I started climbing I knew there was no way I could slip
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| And that was the one true birth of this here Scroobius Pip
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| The one with the leather ties and weathered eyes
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| Who’s 37 clever lines left 37 severed minds
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| The one that speaks but never lies
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| And sometimes fails but always tries
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| And the more he writes the more he finds
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| It pays to bleed between the lines.
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| They say a pictures worth a thousand words
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| So with these thousand words
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| I’ll paint a picture in your mind that breaks the rule of thirds
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| They say a pictures worth a thousand words
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| So with these thousand words
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| I’ll paint you one big picture in your mind that breaks the rule of thirds |