| 12 full moons like white gold, grandfather sky is getting old
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| Tides come and go and the rivers froze and the weather man said its getting cold
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| Winters coming, I’m coming home
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| My ancestors come from the snow
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| I’m first born and Creator knows don’t let me get in my zone
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| S on my chest, anti-hero I guess
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| Beads on my neck and my earlobes are stretched
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| Abnormal, irregular, so unconventional, are we original? |
| YES
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| Phone home, I got a bone to pick
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| I got trust issues I can never fix
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| I’m true to myself and my promises and when I’m in Rome I do the opposite
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| Got my voice back with my artifacts; |
| now I’m talking shit with my talking stick
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| From Potlatch bans on our own land, where legal pot was provocative
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| We drumming our drums as usual, we singing our songs as suitable
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| We dance to it all, so moveable. |
| We do it together, its beautiful
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| I’m breathing heavy, I love it
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| My palms are sweaty, I love it
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| My culture’s alive, I love it
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| The art is revived, I love it
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| Uh, Nate to the bone
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| Lit like my sage homie I ain’t alone
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| The spirits stay with me to get where I’m goin
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| Had my first sweat homie, I was reborn
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| Pride gets bigger as my hair get long
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| Two long braids, that’s a dedication
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| Son of a gun, no registration… just like my pops
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| We about feast, potlatch
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| Copper shield on fleek, top notch
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| Stayed true from the jump, Kriss Kross
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| Dear Turtle Island, this the renaissance
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| Don’t take my kindness for weakness, man that shit too funny my neechie
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| So tell me, have you ever been at the bottom?
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| Its muddy my neechie
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| I’m pissed off for greatness my neechie
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| Been silent and deadly since my nose was snotty
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| Besides all my fam, I don’t fuck with nobody
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| Illuminative, no illuminati. |
| ILLUMINATIVE, NO ILLUMINATI
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| Misunderstood, ya’ll don’t understand
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| I’m a redman with a method man
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| Resist, revive, indigenize — we heavy hitters
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| We don’t die, we multiply — cry me a river |