| Some days
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| A change has to got to come
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| Got to rise above it all for
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| We’ll rise, yea I know
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| Its hard to walk these city streets
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| Paranoia got the best of the youngin'
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| Most of my childhood friends arrested
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| Rest of them ducking
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| Or doing nothing
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| I stay off the blocks we played on
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| Adore these tracks, I box daily like Avon
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| They running like Omar coming, this ain’t The Wire
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| Still cats carry their cannons like Mariah
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| I struggle today, then ball tomorrow
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| I’m dedicated, the charts is minor
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| This minor try son the legislation
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| And be above all, F' the world
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| I bust off, I see many but compared to less
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| I’m so duck
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| Grind hard for the bucks
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| Like and
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| I’m the one hit wonder, you stuck with him
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| See get the loot, like its 92' after the Rodney case
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| I’m razor sharp on every chain
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| But I don’t watch karate tapes
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| They looked at me and said, «He little, B, yo he probably based.»
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| I spit a verse, they noticed that is not the case
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| I’m all they need
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| Going all over the globe
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| You wouldn’t get far with this rapping is what I was told
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| Now I be touching they souls
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| Packing up shows with young and the old
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| You fiending to roll?
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| Stop
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| You ain’t see my vision
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| Retired from the Bull like Scottie Pippen
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| Now I’m in the kitchen cooking up heaters
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| On Twitter, followed by leaders
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| They watching, birds clocking
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| Its my time in this game
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| I entered the stage like Black Moon Say
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| So get your Smith and Wesson
|
| And buck a shot for this youngin' thats reppin'
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| 8 seconds is lessen by this adolescent
|
| I got that organic, alienated real
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| For all planets
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| They tried to stop what made sense for dollar flow
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| Added still a cat padding like Calicoe
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| I keep it original, dog, strictly for the city
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| Still trying make more bands than P. Diddy
|
| But I ain’t with the faking, you better recognize
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| Like Sam Sneed, without a doubt I am what y’all need
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| So check your need
|
| Ugh huh… you already…
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| Inner stardom’s never born
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| Unless its scorned by every lesson in disguise
|
| With digesting worthy progressive verses numbers in the pies
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| Its only three eyes on the prize possession
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| Tell em' niggas better hol' they weapons
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| In y’all sections for this rap precinct that won’t witness protection
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| Opening sentences hoping these sentences could block cells
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| On Brooklyn blocks well
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| 'Till they can’t reach him like the top shelf
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| Cause every letter bound to hit em with a hot spell
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| On the dot, until its red hot
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| And every art already touch arteries till' tec’s drops
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| That IllMindedChild pop outta tracks until your neck pop
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| Commitment to the page is on stage in limited wedlock
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| And the knots is tied to get more than 2 Chainz just for your dreadlock
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| And every flame regains 'till your memory set up headlocks
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| And its gone… |