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Each word I spit sparklin' glow |
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Kamachi street shaman, remarkable flow |
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Rebellious, rowdy saints put a part in ya fro |
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Blood on the turntables, AK assaultin' the show |
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I'm from the 70's, gang war heavenly blow |
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The same block old pops sell beverely snow |
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Crush groove in my heart, the culture I know |
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I'm the same A capella ??????? whereva I go |
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I'm underground my sounds in the ghettos overseas |
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Love a Rakim voice, Brand Nubians steez |
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Bring that 90's rap back, who want it wit these? |
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The thriller, straight from Philla, Ali of emcees |
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JuJu Mob, scatter magic dust in the breeze |
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Catch the vapors, instantaenous death if you breathe |
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Broad Street the bodies in back roads in Belize |
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They want the prize, one look at my eyes then they freeze |
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I got 'Love 4 the Craft' for my spirit to be reputed |
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It's a reason why I do this and why I persue this |
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I got 'Love 4 the Craft' and if you don't true this |
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That's how we seperate the real from intruders |
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Yo it's Chief Kamachi, one of the wildest ock's |
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I go to vote leave a bomb in the ballot box |
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When I'm dead they think that the terror stops |
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But each word is like a seed from the rarest crops |
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Minds blossom and grow when you hear it rock |
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Bless you like the father you submit to in prayer |
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Granddaddy of that half street spiritual sphere |
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I know I'm nothin' like the way you had envisioned me there |
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When my light shine come thru like the beautiful air |
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When I write rhymes nothin' you can do to compare |
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Take it back like my Queen puttin' braids in my hair |
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On the motherland brother man this is the jam of the year |
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I'm on the throne holmes you tryna put ya hands on the chair |
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I got the fire to lead and a murderous glare |
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Give the world what they need before my grave site is clear |
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And I ascend to Angels wit my family that care |
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I got 'Love 4 the Craft' for my spirit to be reputed |
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It's a reason why I do this and why I persue this |
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I got 'Love 4 the Craft' and if you don't true this |
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That's how we seperate the real from intruders |
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Kamach Bolivian rock in the booth wit the wake |
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I spit the block, all I know is the stoupe and the crate |
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I got seven questions for God - seven spooks at the gate |
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While seven kids can't even put their tooth in the cake |
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Mommy sacrifice for that little bit of loot that she scraped |
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Left the world before she heard my first group on the tape |
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The pain is in the music I make, so ruthless and great |
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Black roses around the evil of state |
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Candles burn in the windows what I reveal at the gates |
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It's the ghost of old Kunta, death drum on the waist |
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Warrrior paint on my face, spears thru ya ears |
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I don't know if you can hear dirt cover ya face |
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Trumpets blow, Undertakers dumpin' slow |
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Hell's crowded but Heaven got extra bunks I know |
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It's deadly, OD on the medley |
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Pump the flow, make the whole US drug consumption grow, yo |
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I got 'Love 4 the Craft' for my spirit to be reputed |
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It's a reason why I do this and why I persue this |
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I got 'Love 4 the Craft' and if you don't true this |
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That's how we seperate the real from intruders |