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well if i'm first i might as well make this verse something |
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you want t listen to, maybe give you a visual of light |
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illumination for dark times, i'm able just to walk with loneliness |
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mic sparking, clashing, so to be smashing out these deep flows |
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paying dues is often the cost |
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for a professional, i'm exceptional when |
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i send thoughts into soldier type fashion |
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march to a hidden part of the pen |
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splashing out onto the page, words drop in brigades |
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non-stop brain waves 24-7 |
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shine or rain, i stay repping |
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to hold down this black ink, more effective than oppression |
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i'm letting out loud screams i'm hearing these ghost writers on the scene |
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invisible to the rest but i know who they possess |
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control your text before your mouth starts rhyming |
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sintax, listener, sev, we're joywriting. |
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hook: |
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we're going joywriting as we rhyme across the map |
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with our thoughts shining concepts right into your lap |
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when we write verbs to link words from ink blurs |
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it comes out fresh to impress on the paper. |
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(repeat) |
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[listener] |
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i lay the groundwork, throw on about ten layers of intricacies |
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shrouded delicately through a buried sea |
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but doesn't matter when you really don't care or see |
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that i love it, seems like lunacy to chase it all so blindly |
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catching me so off guard i'm questioning how much you're |
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feeling me, i could scream like hostages about |
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how much the man keeps me down or |
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i could complain like the handicapped |
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about how my lyrics sound and how it's not accessible, but i won't |
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i should impress my rap-name on your mind like it's a leather belt |
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and i might try to make you feel guilty about how |
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i'm so underground and you're the commercialist |
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soil on top of me..well |
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i'll just lay the groundwork and stay content with my beats |
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mixed in concrete sheets with word repeats |
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phonetically bound by threads of concept pleats |
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recycled into thoughts unique. |
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hook: |
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[sintax] |
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my father's prize possession is a pilot ball point pen |
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he keeps it freshly polished and seldom is it written |
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but he left last week and so i took it for a spin |
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joywriting with my friends, swerving in and out the margin |
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pardon my pleasure because i'm reckless when i grin |
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i never look before i laugh because that's a waste of inhibition |
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cross double punchlines and keeping traffic on their toes |
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i've got em ducking into stitches as i'm steering down the road |
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offroad imagination goes wherever you suppose |
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compose in 4-wheel drive to survive the highs and lows |
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i'm a patouine jedi fully trained in the art |
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my heart metacholorean count is off the charts |
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trained with obe 1 kenobe in the early morning sun |
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spit sound surround like dolby when i breathe through speaker lungs |
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riding bareback on a banth across the sands of tantouine |
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using the force to chart my course holding the hands of elohim |
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who bends my will to win, pod racing on the outer rim |
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deepspacing as i'm chasing down ideas with my pen |
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lament for the loss and pray for peace so kids can cope |
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spit hope, love and joy with every flick of the scripter's pen stroke. |
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hook: |