| It has been, it has been, it has been
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| It has been said, that there has been known to be bloodshed
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| Over bread, men who have bled to death, dead
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| Strapped to beds, pipe bombs, dynamite, lead
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| Money power respect, street cred, yeah
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| It’s scary ain’t it? |
| Picture yourself goin out as a hero
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| Picture mural pictures of us painted all over street corners
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| Fans meet to mourn us, while we meet the coroners
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| Notorious tried to warn us
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| We watched, so many Biggie backed off of
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| Biggie’s back and 'Pac's, landmarks, history in rap
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| Statistically in fact; |
| it’s so sad to see us re-enact
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| these tragic events, which lead us back
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| To where we left off on March 9th
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| To come from such hard knock lifes
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| And make it up out of 'em, hit the spotlights
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| And, once they’re on us this is our lives
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| Thrust out for all eyes to cast upon us
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| to see who can last the longest
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| And he who lasts the longest, must be the strongest
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| In this concrete jungle, where this dog eat dog mentality comes from
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| It’s origin, which is usually originated from cats who starvin
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| Or it could just be somebody’s horror, that just horri-fies
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| And applies to his persona or the sizes
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| in his entou-rage, that intimidates the people
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| To the point that you know that he’s gangster
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| He ain’t just say shit, you just believe it
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| Since B.I.B. |
| taught us niggaz to think big
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| I’m been about my business since then, so anxious
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| It ain’t how we live, it’s what he said, he did it for Brooklyn
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| This I took in, sent chills through my skin
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| Vicious, I’m experiencin the same sights as him
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| It’s what excited Obie to write these poems
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| Rollin, goin through the same shit he spoken
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| Open up my eyes so there’s no limit in them skies
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| When _Ready to Die_ was a sick part of my life
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| Palmin that forty-five, plottin to pop my mind
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| Then that crooked eye Jamaican I’d so many times rewind
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| Got me to walk a straight line and get up on my grind
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| Get up out the system, who could give him better signs
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| No pop of mine could top Big Poppa rhymes
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| So possibly I’d be popular huh?
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| That’s the inspiration I got from my nigga B.I.
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| I took him from coal to diamond, I molded his mind
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| Enter the most phenomenal artist of any and all time
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| I made a Frankenstein, my design impressed
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| Backpackers and press who said my house was a mess
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| Critics lashed, said I made a fortune off of his passin
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| All I did was build a dynasty, off of his passion
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| And I’m addressin the adolesencents absent to who he is
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| The original king of New York, Christopher Wallace…
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| This is a promise on Diddy’s honor, I’m a father T’Yanna
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| And teach her that with all the drama don’t even bother…
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| On repeat, all of your albums play back to back
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| And I visit your grave cause our friendship’s intact
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| An immaculate concept, extravagant progress
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| Bullet wounds left in my heart, I’m yellin «God bless»
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| Regardless to critics yellin that East/West
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| I seen the game losin, I’m just pressin the reset
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| And when the ressurection of you shines through an individual
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| Lyrical enough to wear the same crown of thorns literally!
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| I’ma pay homage, Brooklyn’s finest
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| Whether it’s Queens or Harlem it’ll be instant stardom, nigga! |