Give me the mic, my de-vice, that i utilise, write these lines, that'll be
That's gon' make it hard to smile in the futurebut through whatever you see
Fif-tee /nine times till ya de-ceased/ im sick son new form of disease/
Niggas fightin 'cross the whole planet, so it could never be peace
Slick rick, de la soul, and rakim spit sicker,
And maybe one day his kids, something that he'll live for
If you thought it, it better be what you want
Fakes try to put me on de-frost, they be glossed,
The words brings de-lights peace is what i incite
Tell by your handbag that boy don't do you right
That i couldn't leave even semi-free on cinco de mile*
Yo, i'm a hot and bothered astronaut crashing while
GO BACK TO WRITE A SONG ABOUT ANOTHER TOPIC !
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