| Stro Elliot
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| There I was about less than a year old
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| According to the story that my mother told
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| She couldn’t get her little boy to sleep
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| Till my father put that Ronnie Laws record on repeat
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| The beginning of a love affair that I chose
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| To keep hidden till my grandfather exposed
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| The love letters he would find every week
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| In a laugh, in a dance, in a nod to the beat
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| Yup, this one is a leader
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| The 1st chair drummer tri-toms with the feet up
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| Somebody told me bout a rap song turn the beat up
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| I’ma need her, that Baum Applebaum that Bonita
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| The lunchroom table got applause, and the teacher in the hall
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| Made a call saying, «ya'll need to meet up»
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| We all got together in the Fall Pangaea
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| It all fell apart when the summertime freed up
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| The otherwise dedicated guys from the lunch line
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| Started looking at me like naw nevermind
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| Well that’s it, can’t perform without a line-up
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| My brother telling me that I should still sign up
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| He put his money on a studio recording
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| Back then so important, even though we didn’t know it then
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| So hey brother, when that child starts yawning
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| I’ma play a lullaby and put them headphones on him
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| Mr. J. Medeiros
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| Ain’t had a dime at the month of nine
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| In my mind I see my Mom when I hunt for lines
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| Punching time at a Gessi’s at a time when them penny’s
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| Combined don’t add much to a family of five
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| Said I was barely alive had to burry the knives cut me out
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| Whatchu know about carrying lives
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| Out of doubt and needing chances
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| Ain’t seeing advances my Parents stance was these stamps ain’t the answer
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| Momma braved through it but her head was pained after
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| Got a brain tumor but they said it ain’t cancer
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| Father gave to us the Word obey master
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| Honesty and truth are the words that came after
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| Honor for the troops he’s a military man
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| Taught the skill of every hand must be paid for, crafted
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| It’s in my name why the fame ain’t matter
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| It’s a family thing being a day old rapper
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| It’s the hands that it brings like the Saints in old chapters
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| Together in sync like the paintings in old chapels
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| Press on the ink I’m playing these old samples
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| Blessings that link old days to new sad ones
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| Happy to have them saving my thoughts
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| From the day that they bought that album and gave me that box
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| I was playing the King of Rock like the king of the block
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| Not knowing they had to save for the things that I got |