A cap at the back of a city of great deeds
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I am racing with a backpack like that MC from Brooklyn
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No fixed salary, but nothing forced
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I carry the rapper's life in the full version, maximum
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I see the sense in it and I believe it is worth it
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Spend the next day bending over a piece of paper
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Then pack your backpack and go to some club
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Put your style and views to the test
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I have faith in myself, I wear stigmata
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A sign for those whose fate he wrote off
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I have Kozakiewicz's gesture in a small pocket
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A gift for haters when I finish my LP
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I wander among people, topics of conversation
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The works of my masters, street of blocks
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The backpack wants to be stuffed to the brim
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Walk upright among those who are on their knees
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Hey Pelson - what's up?
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Hey Monkey - what's up?
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I am writing, but the words are as if not mine
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The puzzles seem to know them, but I don't know who put them together
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As if someone had given me a thousand CVs as a deposit
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I have a flow style, I have skills, I have faith
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I have a heart, I have a mind, I have a full backpack
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I have tied my luggage on a stick a long time ago
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And slamming my dick into azimuth, I go listening to some good groups from Brooklyn
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To feel the stench of smoke and walk all the ways
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To be able to say: "I used to have the world at my feet, son"
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I wanted to play for those who lack style
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Show a place, but neither is worth rhyming
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They bode triumph on the cards, end with coffee grounds
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I look at each of them in the face, laughing like a bastard
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I have strong hands and a fire that burns in the verse
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And he makes me mature, although I prefer to remain a boy
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Don't ask if I'll wake up in time
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I sleep soundly because I only consider this option
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I already learned at school when I was a teenager
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That my path will not be shown to me by symbols on the maps
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And I still haven't taken my backpack off for so many years
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I don't listen to the advice of those who shout that it's time to turn back
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Hey Włodi - what's up?
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Hey Eldo - what's up?
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I am writing, but the words are not mine
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Puzzle, like I know them, but I don't know who put them together
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As if someone had deposited a thousand CVs for me
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I have style, I have flow, I have skills, I have faith
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I have a heart, I have a mind, I have a full backpack
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At the start, the Creator gave me an empty backpack
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He added free will, promised nothing
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This is how the connoisseur set off into the world of simple pleasures
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I told you about them with Emil and Mes
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I'll write an essay, expose the trash
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I have reflection for the merry, and satire for the sad
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I can give you the truth by laughing like Horace
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You want to see reality in a crooked mirror
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You will find traces of the past in my backpack
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A handful of red orangeade-flavored dreams
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A bottle of hope when the dark hour comes
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I will sit under a tree and drive a wedge into the bugle call
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And I also have a notebook of lost opium souls
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With one line I can turn ash into a diamond
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And I have to go and fight until I rest
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Because I want what everyone wants, only a hundred times more
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Hey Włodi - what's up?
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Hey Eldo - what's up?
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I am writing, but the words are not mine
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Puzzle, like I know them, but I don't know who put them together
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As if someone had deposited a thousand CVs for me
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I have style, I have flow, I have skills, I have faith
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I have a heart, I have a mind, I have a full backpack
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God gave me talent and patience with people
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To tell, to talk, and to wake up those who sleep
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Open the eyes of the blind, give hope to the fallen
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To lonely people to give a hand, show the world that laughs
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I am carrying a bag with a whole set of history in it
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I have the key to the dream world, do you want? |
You can live in it
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Each of us boys got new bricks
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Short pants, scuffed knees, a slingshot shot
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You will never lose your naiveté of those days
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Rub your eyes with amazement and curiosity
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And live your own innocence
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And even going against the wind, make sense of existence
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The heart beats, the lungs work, the brain is calm
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Strong faith, although Satan keeps an eye on me
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It's okay, I know what I want, not to save just talking
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Take a look in the backpack of fate and I'll start telling you
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Hey Pelson - what's up?
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Hey Włodi - what's up?
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I am writing, but the words are not mine
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Puzzle, like I know them, but I don't know who put them together
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As if someone had deposited a thousand CVs for me
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I have style, I have flow, I have skills, I have faith
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I have a heart, I have a mind, I have a full backpack |