| I was a 80's baby raised in the 90's
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| I was barely touching 13 when shit got grimy
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| I had a ball-head army fatigue hoodie
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| I thought i was Sticky Fingaz my fingers stayed in some pussy
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| Timbs on my feet my cypher complete
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| On a stolen BMX looking for a cypher to eat
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| In the staircases 40 bottles and dutch guts, guns everywhere
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| Eyes burning from the dust blunts
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| I walk with warriors, certified street fighters
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| Sour Patch Kids in the corners playing street fighter
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| No fathers around we let the streets guide us
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| Lost so many brothers yeah you know the streets got us
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| Thank god for Hip Hop for Kane, Big and Pac for Nas and Big L
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| Last Emp lived up the block
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| Black Thought made me believe i can make it
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| 90's shit this was my education
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| Hip-hop vinyl and cd stores tought me to put a needle on
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| A record, and learn english
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| When Garden of Eden gone, graffiti walls were in my headphones
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| I wasn’t street involved, I was writing
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| Or recording Yo! |
| MTV Raps on my VCR
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| It was my drug, a couple of kids in my crew
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| Got death certificates from drugs, while I listened to Cube
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| When Black Moon told me to Enta Da Stage, I wasn´t waitin
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| So studying Gangstarr was a Daily Operation
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| Felt alive among walking cadavers, hip-hop was all that would matter
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| Life was a bitch, but Nas was dropping Illmatic
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| Kris Kross fan, backwards pants, tough on the bladder
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| And 90's beats were harder than Bob Dole poppin Viagra
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| Shit would erupt, daily 12 inches were copped
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| Rappers in the 90's left it to Lewinsky to suck
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| Real hip-hop will glow forever, pray that I will flow forever
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| My religion is rap, thank God for the golden era |