| I gather myself and try to write nicely, but I ain’t feelin' that way
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| I’d rather write raps that incite fights, riots, and melees
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| And they say, «All X-Raided rhyme about is peelin' caps
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| Prison crap, fuckin' bitches, gettin' high, and killin' cats»
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| But I’m insistin' that I’m spittin' facts
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| And y’all niggas is spittin' lies to feel alive
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| While I’m livin' in prison
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| Couldn’t feel that I’m committin' convictions
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| What the Hell am I supposed to write?
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| How could I compose nice?
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| When I’m sittin' in this cell at night like
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| And steadily socializin' with
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| Every soldier, sodomist, murderer, rapist
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| Burgler, racist
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| And drug dealers and thug niggas caught up with three strike cases
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| Man I’m faced with bein' in a cage with niggas that love hatred
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| That embraced it, and can taste it
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| And ain’t, feelin' no disgrace
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| Would be willin' to pull your heart out and replace it with a cold one
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| More should, show love, for the young ones to the old ones
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| And where they come from is irrelavent
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| But they’re gettin' here so face it |
| Gotta come up in, if you think you wouldn’t be up in, chill
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| Revelation, I ain’t got no patience for this fakin'
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| Hate me and then you can reflect reports straight crip
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| Blue and gray bitch
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| Y’all niggas sport pink and turquoise
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| I’m laced with gunpowder from up out of a .44 caliber ???
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| Say sin, see my face sin
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| Sick to see cuts and disgrace men
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| To replace men, but they gotta…
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| Agree with me
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| I just write what I see
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| Might not believe in me
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| I just write what I see
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| I might not like what I see
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| But whether it’s wrong or right
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| It ain’t a song, it’s my life
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| I just write what I see |