| Moscan slippers dreaming through this peace pipe
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| Praying in the dark hoping that I see light
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| Trynna stay sharp with a dark vision
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| Gotta couple heathens with me trynna bombard the system
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| My man just went to jail and brought a gun charge with him
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| On top of that other felonies
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| I told him hold his head I’ll make sure he lives through these melodies
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| I hate to see him trapped, wish these raps could just set him free
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| Whoever thought selling heart would get you seventeen, that’s seventeen
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| I mean yesterday was everything if there’s no hope for tomorrow
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| And money ain’t everything, I can go broke tomorrow
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| Sometimes I find happiness in a broke down cigar
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| In an isolated room on this Navajo wall
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| Mind drifting, smoke disappearing through the wall
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| I hear the loud voices, that’s my homies calling
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| Open up the windows, let the angels fall in
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| As I bob and weave between stars
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| Learn and dream between Mars
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| When words are weaved, pictures are painted
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| Like Navajo Rugs or woven blankets
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| Got so much on my mind, all these thoughts weaving in and out created design
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| So intricate like hand spun rugs
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| They say they talking outside
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| But I hear no love
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| I feel the shots in my back
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| But there’s no slugs
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| I brush the dirt off my shoulders
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| Wipe away all the mug that’s been slung
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| They say the sword ain’t as mighty as the tongue
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| The horns get the attention
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| But the war starts with the drum
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| 808s and low ends beating on my chest like King Kong
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| Gorilla warfare, the force here
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| You could feel it in the song
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| All the warrior in this gone
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| I sip Indian style wrapped' in blankets
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| Smokin' on the bong, trynna find my inner peace
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| Jugglin' stone, never take it for granted, what the struggle is for
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| Cuz through that dark hole life is beautiful, like emeralds and gold
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| There’s diamonds in the dirt, you just gotta dig through some coal
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| I woke up among the confused, but yawning
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| The bloodstream came to collect dues this morning
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| For all the signs we drop, the parachute supplies
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| Are limited, coated in images
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| Yet the code of the streets leaves our thoughts with no access
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| The revenue of colour, all reduced to a blackness
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| But aside the thought, I can find the calm
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| That’s why we close our eyes to concentrate
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| The cons debate, against the pros talking first degree
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| Murder on the clock, they got time to kill
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| I’m intricate to be up in it
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| So I defend every minute, cons hoping for dimes to deal
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| Perimeters occupied by a few chosen
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| To take heed to the fact a few in here are posin'
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| On the laws of lies, attracted to the warm like wool
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| But don’t let it get pulled over your eyes
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| Oh, lord |