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Now we found out, some time agothat if you take a whole group of really
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superbad dudes, and hang em in togetherthey'll make some music whether or not
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somebody else thought it was hip or not.
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You know, they be OK.
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You dig?
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Somebody's got to start it.
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Verse One: O.C.
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It's like me against anyone
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First full verse is spontaneous, combustion thrusts me
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No rapper can dust me
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Bounced upon the scene with a theme, Word...Life
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I cut fantasy out cause I differ from a dream
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Wisdom lies deep in my molecules, you assumed
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I fell victim to, hip-hop blues
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You way off I stay on tour often rockin spots
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on the California coast, range you know back to Boston
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Enforcin my theory, leavin rappers teary-eyed
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Fly most who came and thought they had stride
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You accustomed to cussin and bluffin fussin for nothin
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Half of y'all crumbs are just soft like muffins
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I bake, masterpieces, sharper thesis
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Y'all candy coated motherfuckers stink like feces
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Needless to say, are these running shoes yours?
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You retreated when I gave out head for wars
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My microphone set is immensely brick wall
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Solid in and out you slept so now snore
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Who got my back, you ask Lord and BlastMaster
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Unorthodox, combinations from the masters
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Mics I menace, when it's finished
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You get an understanding of what we bringin, no gimmicks
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Verse Two: Lord Finesse
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My decision is precision, I'm ill in ways you can't vision
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I got niggaz worshippin Lord Finesse like religion
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You can't fuck around, you're kiddin
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You don't want no collision, you better fly South like a pigeon
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Good riddance, I flip flows you can't imagine
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I break down your Flintstone style, into fragments
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So pay attention to the man rappin
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Don't think that it can't, I'm livin proof, it can happen
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I reign supreme logical, verbally, I drop it in ways
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that you never dreamed possible
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So lyrically, I personally figure
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That my Harvard style, is too deep for you nursery niggaz
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When I clutch the mic, I'm comin rough and right
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I build more than them workers on construction sights
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I'm skilled at it, I'm Illmatic
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So yes answers your question if you ask me do I still have it
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I'm the realest, the illest
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Comin out the woodwork, like them homos in the Village
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But seriously, I'm got the remedy
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If I's at the bottom of the toilet
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you niggaz still couldn't shit on me
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Originally, it's the same the vet
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I'm on that get rich list, but they didn't call my name yet
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I make it special like a prom night I bomb mics
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while other brothers are old news like Walter Kronkite
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It's critical, you got these Xerox individuals
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But word life, it ain't nothin like the original
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I wreck kids, that's my theory and perspective
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When it comes to hip-hop, I'm on the case like detectives
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You better step to the next man
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Cause the greatest soccer player couldn't kick it like Finesse can
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Verse Three: KRS-One
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This is the scientific extra-prolific terrific
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mystic simplistic metaphysic, no gimmick type lyric
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When you hear it or hear me, runnin through the scrimmages
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You see images, affecting your sight to make you go
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(Yo there he is! No there he is!) No here he is
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Rockin your superiors, in your hardest area
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Your lyrical skills are inferior
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It's because your video that they cheer for ya
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I'll take care of ya, quickly, cause I cannot take it
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Your weak head needs to be decapitated
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Cause you fake it
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If your heart was caffeine, well you're now decaffeinated
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You scream battle but it's the end of your career
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you anticipate it, I hate itCareer ended, how splendid
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For wack MC's I come doctor recommended
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Haha! You know whassup when Lord Finesse up in the piece
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All you wack ass rappers better go rewrite your album
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O.C. in the house, KRS in the house, yeah
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New York style in the house, yeah
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BDP crew in the house, YEAH...
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-----------------
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Brainstorm/P.S.K.
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Lord Finesse |