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A-1-2, A-1-2 |
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But you don't stop |
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Then let the short shot |
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Production: DJ Large |
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And Promoe on the mic(on the mic, on the mic) |
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For all my people(all my people, graffiti writers!) |
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Goes a little something like this: |
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It was the last days of summer |
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Sun shinin' through the window |
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Life movin' real slow |
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You know how things go |
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His friends knew him by the name of Bingo |
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As he turned up the volume on the hot new single |
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(Turn it up son!) |
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From Looptroop his favourite rapgroup |
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He loved how they represented him yo |
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The graffyouth from the grassroots |
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He came from Sweden too |
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Felt proud when he played |
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his new friends the latest tunes |
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Check this shit out man |
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That he had to download |
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Cause his local recordstore |
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Was on the other side of the globe |
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They didn't carry the stuff |
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But he felt it was okay to do |
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He spread the Troop's message |
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All the way to Australia, dude |
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And man that couldn't be wrong |
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When Long Arm and Freedom Fighters |
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Were his fuckin' theme songs |
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In the headphones those nights |
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He spent when he stayed up |
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Adrenaline Rush |
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When he entered the lay up, singin... |
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Bada papa papa... |
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You know graffiti won't die, die |
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No, it won't, aha |
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Because these walls don't lie, lie (They don't lie) |
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Come on |
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I'm dedicatin' this piece, aha |
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He said, to those DVSG's |
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And stepped in with a grin and a boosted Kangol |
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Mimicking the king |
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With the ruler's manners |
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Chorus: Fresh dressed |
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In his newest shoes and flannels |
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Then began lettin' on |
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With the loosest cannons |
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Figurin' this'll be my coolest panel |
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But when they see it all they see |
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Is just a gruesome scandal |
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Erasin' all signs of life |
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Callin the youth some vandals |
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They can't handle the truth |
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So this is how the truth is handled |
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Deep into the music and his art |
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Man, his true love |
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Didn't even notice when the train pulled up |
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Before the bloodstains faded |
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On the engine cooler |
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The very same train |
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Hit another writer: Olaf |
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On a different continental: Europe |
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But then they came to the same place, |
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That I'm sure of |
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In this world people always |
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Looked upon them as a terror |
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But now 50 000 chariots singin' the chorus, going... |
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Bada papa papa... |
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(aha, aha) |
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Graffiti writers won't die, die, no |
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(I'm telling you) |
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Because these walls don't lie, lie, no |
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(They don't lie) |
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Come on |
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I'm dedicatin' this song, song |
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To those gone |
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Your memory live on(live on) |
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Bridge: |
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I know a lot of people |
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Including myself get uncomfortable |
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When people including myself |
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Get emotional |
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But I gotta be true to myself |
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And to most of y'all |
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Man I still got love |
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For graffiti culture though |
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A lot of people including myself |
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Get uncomfortable |
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When people including myself |
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Get emotional |
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But I gotta be true to myself |
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And to most of y'all |
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Man I still got love |
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For graffiti culture though |
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A lot changed from |
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The days of Spraycan stories |
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See me in the yard today |
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Lost like a freakin' tourist |
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And I don't claim to know much |
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All I really know is |
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We were 17 once |
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Actin' like we were immortals |
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Fearin' no evil |
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People said we had no morals |
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That's fine, their corrupt world |
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It really wasn't for us |
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We just laughed at the bullshit names |
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That they called us |
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Hated us, we hated them |
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And both sides found out what a war is |
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We were winning in the beginning |
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Then found out 'bout the horrors |
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Don't get me wrong my lover |
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Hundred percent, no less |
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Peace to my people |
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We grow with the knowledge |
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I bite on death same time |
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I'm playin' hardish to catch |
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From South Africa |
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Writers from New York |
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Australia, Spain, France |
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And Germany, up north |
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Still the same rapper tellin' |
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Cops to fuck off |
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And all my writers: |
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Survive! This my love song to y'all |
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Bada papa papa... |
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You know graffiti won't die, die, no |
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Because these walls don't lie, lie, no |
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To all my people world wide, wide, yo' |