| Listenin to strange fruit, Jay root and beirut
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| Tryin to listen to Jesus its hard as fake boobs
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| At times i stay tuned hear the bread break
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| And grape juice and grey goose gossiple
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| Prelude let it play through
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| I’m listenin to Mr J Medeiros and Nicolay
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| While I’m hearing drips of rain
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| Hit against the window pane
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| Hits on tape, hit parade 1968
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| When it plays i hear the bullets penetrate
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| MLK, soul levitate
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| When the plane starts to escalate
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| Top gun, take my breath away
|
| Its time to press and play
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| Drop the needle then step away
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| Hear whats said off the record
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| Before theres nothin left to say
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| In my room listenin to sermon Gershwin,
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| Earth wind, and fire
|
| Listenin to persons i admire
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| Searchin for higher learnin like ice cube
|
| On i-tunes, listenin to grown men
|
| Rappin like it’s highschool
|
| Listenin to friends talk, hearin my pen stop
|
| Used to write first, now i try to listen then jot
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| Listenin to pop like reddenbachs
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| City to the boondocks
|
| Can’t you hear the games like a jukebox?
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| Cause you gotta pay to play
|
| And theres no lay-away
|
| hearin from folks caught in real snares, no 808
|
| Real talk, my vocals go and slay the tape
|
| I say it straight and never twice
|
| No fake delay
|
| Listen with the volume down, push the sound back
|
| If every lifes a movie all our soundtracks
|
| Sound like sound clash
|
| All our sounds bleeding in
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| To each other no sound reasonin
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| Stop, breathe again, listen
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| Music is a great way to heal
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| And a safe place to feel
|
| Trapped in this fake world
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| A gateway to real
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| It’s a great way to heal
|
| And a safe place to feel
|
| Trapped in this fake world
|
| A gateway to real
|
| Listenin to sounds in a space thats vacant
|
| Profound and deep, underground as basements
|
| And quiet as kept but i found it sacred
|
| A sage said silence is the sound of patience
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| Listen |