| «Give it up! |
| Oh Lord… give it all to you
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| I try, but — it’s — just — no — use!»
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| Aiyo, give it up, rush you up, no fuss, blood rush
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| Cuss much, what’s mine? |
| You bust nuts, crunch crunch
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| Spark the bud, what’s what, the white King Tut
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| Out in so-fuck, look who they dug up, yup, it’s the Rugged
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| On the record with J-Live, I could hardly believe this
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| I never thought I’d be rapping on no record with school teachers
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| Hair flinch from the eighties, library, lies bury
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| TV, tell lies visually, kid you wit me, hostility
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| Humility, hillbilly, gorilla, he mentally illy
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| Still is he, actually, really killed me, billy
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| All that stuff you heard about me, is probably true
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| Heard I got the AIDS virus, I probably do
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| Ammunition spitting is him, is it, you listening
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| Littering written, it’s in slippers, get the rebel in him
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| Sticking it with sinners, sizzlin' rhythm, verbally hit him
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| Did he did it, or did he didn’t, admit it
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| Pretend he ain’t offended, the men and women
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| Every minute they in it, don’t be
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| Every illiterate ignorant critical dissed it
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| Every idiot that ain’t live it, they talking shit
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| I’m R.A. |
| the Rugged Man, get off, my dick
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| Give it up, for the Gods &the Earths, ladies and gentleman
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| All the human families, the wicked can’t stand me
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| The righteous man hands me the mic, it’s uncanny how
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| One man’s penalty’s, is another man’s boo-whore
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| The label pun’s ironic, courtesy of this sport
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| Still can’t stop a grown man, from pressing report
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| A free man can either be freedom or free label
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| When you spent, what you make, to keep making, you can’t save
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| A damn thing, no savings, that’s how life’ll enslave ya
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| That’s why I strive daily; |
| to be my own savior
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| I know when shine glows and reflects in my behavior
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| So caught in between checks, I spilled it in respect
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| So give it up, if your mission’s belittling my position
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| As a microphone physician, making you listen
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| Me and Rugged Man relate, through a previous poem
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| Like he said, I’m mad famous, for being unknown
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| On records for ten years, I can hardly believe it
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| Never thought I’d be perceived, as just some rapping school teacher
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| Just some dude, that can cut and rhyme, same time
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| Just some conscious kid, that’s try’nna save the world through rhyme
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| Just another underground, hand-to-mouth microphonist
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| Stop your mirror rap, just to stop you in your tracks
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| This will stomp you on your track, justice is not just
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| Another ordinary rapper, I’m the crown royal block
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| With a velvet bag, matter of fact, and since the swagger is back
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| And backed by, a whole nation of millions
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| You can’t hold me, my new floor is my old ceiling
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| That’s why I’m guaranteed, to leave you with something you lack, so just |