I'm living three dreams: Biggie Smalls', Dr. King, Rodney King's. Cause we can't get along, no resolution? 'Til we drown all these haters... Rest in peace to Whitney Houston
I have a dream: One day we will get to the promised land. Then the president will be me, The government will be Shabaam, Mos and Kweli...that's it! All wackness is now banned.
What's the basis when rappers don't know the basics? Still not takin' advice from those I wouldn't trade places with.
Got more milky syllables than alphabet cereals.
Question: Why is that MC's be wack And major labels wanna sign that crap? A-yo...funk that!
I can't relate to livin' less than great.
Funny how things change when you got a liquor in ya: You're quicker with the tongue, givin' me rhythm now. Block the music and the people out to admire the love, The nerve of us...impervious to the entire club. And like marijuana shotguns, let's blow this joint, It's pointless to stay here, so let me anoint.
I got lots of love for my crew, that is; No love for them other crews and rival kids. All them out-of-town niggas know what time it is, And if they don't? They need to buy a watch, word up.
Crazy frustration, about my lovin situation; When patience was a virtue...but I wasn't used to waitin.
Take a sip from the cup of death... And when you're shaking my right hand, I'll stab you with the left.
If you don't got endz, you won't be gettin' no skinz, And if you don't got money, you won't scoop a honey. If you don't got cash, you won't be gettin' no ass, And if you don't got loot, you won't be knockin' no boots.
Niggas out here buyin' hoes bags n' shoes, But couldn't buy their kid a new coat for school? Damn.
I got a head full of headaches, a heart that's full of woes. I'm constantly singin' them down home blues, and not many people knows That leaves me with a twisted view of the whole wide world as I know it... And I guess I got no choice but to be a poet.
You're living up in Heaven, but I know you're mad as Hell.
Take these words home and think it through; Or the next rhyme I write might be about you.
Lyrical lecture, word architecture, Rap director, the best in my sector. Microphone cool chief, releasin the smooth speech... I get nasty with a pen and some loose leaf.
I call my brother 'Sun' cause he shine like one.
I got beef with commercial-ass niggas with gold teeth Lampin' in a Lexus eatin' beef.
A born terror, a rebel without a pause... Ain't never had a good Christmas, so who is Santa Claus?
Now on the first day of Christmas, my homeboy gave to me A sack of the krazy glue and told me to smoke it up slowly. Now on the second day of Christmas, my homeboy gave to me A fifth of Hendog and told me to take my mind off that weed. Now by the third day of Christmas, my big homeboy gave to me A whole lot of everything, and it wasn't nuthin' but game to me.
I know you don't wanna hear my opinion, There come many paths and you must choose one. And if you don't change then the rain soon come. See, you might win some, but you just lost one.
God gave us music, so we play with our words.
MC's they retreat cause they know I can beat 'em, And eat 'em in a battle and the ref won't cheat 'em. I'm the best takin' out all rookies, So forget Oreos...eat Cool J cookies.
Complainin' to my lawyer how this rookie tried to frisk me... Jealous of my jeep, I gave his badge to the chief, And got his ass directin' traffic in the heat for a week.
I get a craving like I fiend for nicotine. But I don't need a cigarette, know what I mean?
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