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(Voice sample:) |
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"Ultimately, martial art means honestly expressing yourself. It is easy for |
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me to put on a show, and be cocky so I can show you some really fancy |
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movement. But to express oneself honestly, not lying to oneself, and to |
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express myself honestly enough; that my friend is very hard to do." |
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(Verse 1) |
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Like sand through the hourglass |
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So are the days of our lives |
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And for that lie, only we thrive |
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Awakenings, as we make the dead come alive |
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Rise and walk my son, come into the light |
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Inside the dark, we illuminate mics |
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Give knowledge to mediocre, the will to Neanderthal |
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Filter to the smog, digital to analog |
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We steady advancing, rhyme enhancing |
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Simple minds can't keep up with this |
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(Verse 2) |
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I'm a put it on the table |
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I ain't a thug nigga and playa |
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I ain't playful, I'm jus' a non-sinner |
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A man without label, standin' on my own two |
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Tryin' to stay stable |
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Speakin' what I know, to only what I label |
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I ain't the kinda guy who carry out for dough |
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The material cat who walk around for show |
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I'm jus' everyday, merry-way Joe-in-the-go |
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While other's go wit' the flow |
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I ain't never been the one to follow trend |
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I do my own bit, can't keep up with the Joneses |
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I'm on my own shit, I don't care what you drink |
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What you stress, how you dress, or where you got the link |
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I ain't impressed |
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These lames walk around like mice in the maze |
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Tryin' to get up on cheese, its just a rap race |
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One escapes time seems to make |
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Man worships things over the supreme thing |
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A stop for lots, should I join the hypocrites |
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Or side with the suckers, by choice |
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It makes no difference, that you're a product of environment |
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Is just coincidence, the world's a violent place baby |
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There ain't no more innocence, or civil men of penitence |
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Just ignorance, casting the right from wrong |
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They mimic shit they see on TV or hear in a song |
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What they tell you they on, a sucker act up every minute |
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The righteous live on, but them niggas is invented |
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(Verse 3) |
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Yo, I ain't hardcore, I don't pack a nine millimeter |
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Most a y'all gangsta rappers ain't hardcore neither |
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Whoever get mad, then I'm talkin' 'bout you |
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Claim you fear no man, but never walk wit' our crew |
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Where I'm from, your reputation don't mean jack |
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So what, you pack gats and you sell fiends crack |
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You ain't big time, my man |
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You ain't no different from the next cat in my neighborhood who did time |
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Rhyme after rhymes it's the same topic |
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What make you think you hardcore 'cause you was raised in the projects |
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Broke-ass finally got a hundred in your pocket |
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Now you on the mic, spittin' money's no object |
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What you say is bullcrap, if you wasn't wit' your crew |
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Or wasn't drunk off the brew, would you still pull gats? |
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You need to stop fronting or you headed for self-destruction |
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Yeah, today's topic, is self-destruction |
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I ain't talkin' 'bout the KRS-One discussion |
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I'm talkin' 'bout the one-too-many ignorant suckers |
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Lyin' on the mic to my sisters and brothers |
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Every time you listen to the radio |
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All you hear is nonsense, they never play the bomb shit |
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Everything that glitters ain't gold |
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And every gold record don't glitter, that's for damn sure |
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(Scratching Voices:) |
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"Y'all need to be cool as shit" |
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"Tryin' to teach you from the heart" |
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"Y'all rambling on, and ain't sayin' nothing" |
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"I'm busy in the mind" |
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"I'm a go invent, I think I'll elevate my mental" |
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(Interlude) |
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Yo, see cats got confused somewhere man (confused) |
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About what hip-hop was, you know what I'm sayin' |
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Or what hip-hop is, (it's business yo) you know it |
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It's all business |
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(its big money, know what I'm sayin' that's all these cats about) |
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You know that's bullshit, right? That's nigga talk, nigga talk |
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But if you want to make money yo, I got it broke down though |
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I got it broke down, (break it down yo) |
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You got hip-hop, then you got hip-pop |
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Hip-pop? (hip-pop) |
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Alright, (but a lot of cats want pop) |
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Yes, (know what I'm sayin') |
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It used to be real hip |
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You got the top forty version of hip-hop |
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I still got something else, something else that I wanna get off my chest |
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What? (know what I'm sayin'?) |
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(Verse 4) |
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How many cats you know |
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Speak the ill-legit rhyme after rhyme diligent |
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Eighty-five percent represent ignorant |
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Either you innocent or guilty |
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Some of my favorite emcees fell of |
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It damn near killed me |
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Lookin' at the kids that was true hip-pop |
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Nowadays them cats don't even do hip-hop |
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Rap got 'em brainwashed, with cats that don't last |
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And five minutes of fame, that's when it's a shame |
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Seein' real emcees tryin' to imitate rappers |
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If you ask me, they goin' out ass-backwards |
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Trading in respect to push a fat Lex' |
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Puff rhymin' on the remix, what's next? |
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It hurts so bad, I wanna smack 'em |
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My favorite crew members break up |
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Turn around and join whack ones |
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This is dedicated to you hip-hop hypocrites |
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Droppin' whack songs, like you don't give a shit |
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I ain't got nothin' against nobody trying to make a decent living |
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It ain't the money that's the issue |
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Only if that's the reason why these cats ain't makin' decent music |
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That's when I got beef wit' you |
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And I'm a bring it to you like never |
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Go ahead, call me player-hater if it make you feel better |
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Try to jump my crew if you cats feel boggy |
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You need to wake up, and smell the damn coffee |
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Know what I'm sayin', these whack emcees... |