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Outkast |
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Miscellaneous |
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Phobia |
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[Talking:] The feeling of being 12 years old and waking up in the middle |
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of the night and somebody in yo room. Yo heart starts beating so fast |
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you can hear it pumping. The veins in yo temple pulsate as you stare at |
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the intruder. Then after a few minutes you realize he ain't moving. So |
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finally you let 'em hang and turn on the light and the killer turns into |
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yo coat throwed over the chair. |
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The feeling of sitting at the red light early in the morning and two or |
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three motherfuckers cross the street. Yo senses heighten, reflexes |
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sharpen vision's enhanced adrenaline flows as they rush across the |
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street you leave the print from the heater grip in yo palm then yo heart |
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rate and breathing drag back to normal as you realize these niggas just |
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goin' to the store. |
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Many of us mistake Phobia for true fear. Whereas fear is a gift from |
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God to be used for self-preservation. Phobia are obstacles strategically |
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placed in society by opposers of positive existence. Through |
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stereotyping, innuendo, false documentation, and glorification they'll |
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turn your fear switch to a permanent on. We can change this by changing |
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the small truth within' the lie. Death is a small price to pay for |
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respect. Death is a small price to pay for respect. You know who it is. |
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You know what it is. Peace out. |
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[Verse 1: Andre] |
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In these troublin' times |
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a nigga like me be thinkin' of rhymes |
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that makes my quarters nickels |
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plus my pennies and my dimes stack |
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Don't be lookin' for trouble it be finding me |
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Try turning the other cheek |
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I understand but never mind that |
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Yes Sir guess the light is getting dim |
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at the end of the tunnel tried to hit me for my rims |
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I never thought thirty spokes |
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could attract too much attention |
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I gotta protect my own therefore |
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I'm heated just like a kitchen |
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full of pots and pan Glocks in hand |
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Shots rung out like ringin' the bells |
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and then that sucker nigga ran |
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Damn, I never thought that it |
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would come to this conclusion |
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the folks that throwed us |
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on them boats should be the one's I'm losin' |
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but naw we don't see it that way |
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in '94 this is the real no time for play play |
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betta believe the playas on the loot |
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need to get they head screwed on tight |
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when it really get down to the nitty grit |
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who gone fight pipe down |
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'cause ain't no better time |
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to crank it up than right now |
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we gots to see rump crum down here |
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and I don't hear nobody disagreein' |
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Orga-no-i-z-e-Mr. D.J. and me and Big Boi |
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[Chorus] |
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So don't spend yo whole life |
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livin' it for the white |
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You got a 9 to 5 and now |
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you choose to live it right |
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You takin' yo ass to the Army |
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'cause you scared of Revolution |
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I'm writing everyday to stop that brain pollution |
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I got a baby on the way that stress is in my chest |
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I'm 18 years of age and black so I can picture less |
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I'm smokin' and drinkin' e'ryday |
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So play your fuckin' job |
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educated and black I will resort to rob |
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[Verse 2: Big Boi] |
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See why in the muthafuck |
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do niggas be acting up |
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Do they want me to grab my shit |
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and lettin' that pistol go ruck |
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See I be gettin' stuck and stuff |
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havin' to knock a nigga out about my clout |
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That's not what it's about |
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see yes indeed I got that weed |
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like Daddy Q be havin' them ounces |
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That nigga the B-I-G be chokin' 'em out |
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and then I bounces |
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I got that lyrical flow to make |
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a hoe pull up her skirt |
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I drunk that herk & jerk boi |
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thinkin' of future things to work on |
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I got my fuck on and |
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then I took my clothes off |
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Washed my nuts up in the sink |
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and then I got more nuts off |
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Cough it's time to be out |
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see bein' a pimp is bein' a pimp |
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I'm dirtier than the shit |
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on the back of a shrimp |
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Now ain't that foul |
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the way a nigga can spit that style |
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My nigga I spit it I did it |
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Now suckas need to quit it |
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'Cause it's real |
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[Chorus] |
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[Verse 3: Big Boi] |
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Well it's that nigga that be |
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wearing Nautica V-necks |
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and Polo sweats |
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I got some food up in yo thoughts |
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and that cess off in yo chest |
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See livin' up in the dungeon |
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where we stayed in '93 |
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see that nigga the B-I-G B-O-I |
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that be me |
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and when we rock it |
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Niggas be jocking just like ? |
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you snitch I fucked yo bitch |
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See and my niggas G'd that hoe |
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on the South side of Camelton Road |
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No slippin' in this pimpin' |
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she was just a horny toad |
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See I'm a mystery like the |
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killing of Michael Jordan's father |
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Was steadily packin' the hoes |
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when I worked at Foot Locker |
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I'm gettin' higher than learning |
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smokin' 'em up and then burning |
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East Point is on the map |
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and now my clothes is hurtin' |
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[Andre:] |
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Now shit done got boring ass |
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molin' when excess closed down |
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but niggaz kept sewin' shearin' |
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stirrin' bein' the pharm assistant that missed |
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of the folks but some people |
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tend to joke about this |
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but it's really dead spirits |
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You can bet my lyrics |
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now ya wonder why that we |
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done stopped and got serious |
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Wantin' to know where I'm from |
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and where I need to be |
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Now that I know comfortable |
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living give me meat |
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Can I get back ya wonder why we split back |
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lure us into pitch black dark |
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but I sit back and spark |
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another one to leave ya discombobulated |
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in that dust livin' in a world |
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where in nobody do you trust |
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Then hush never became a major trade |
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but us in major trouble |
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'cause we made a too many mistakes |
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off in the past |
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Thinkin' you could make it this world |
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and now we laugh 'cause it's all faults [Chorus starts here] |
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either way ya go ya gotta pay the cost of the mic wind |
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[Chorus repeat] [last line is changed to:] |
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I'm hangin' with the G-O-O-D-I-E Mob Nigga yeah |
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Takin' you a li'l higher knowwhatI'msayin' when you learnin' when you |
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burnin' up that smoke so you can choke on my quotes |
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and get my * down yo throat you just don't understand |
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youknowwhatI'msayin' Organized Noize for '95 Bitch! |