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I got the nerve to wanna rap without a ‘J’ in my handle/
No ‘Big’, no ‘Little’, just a regular rap dude/
Ever since ‘97 effervescent with the best of lessons/
Not 5%’er-sent—my essence is to stress the questions/
I etch a sketch of my blessings into melodic tones/
For you to hear and hopefully buy, but not to own/
My intellectual property weighs a metric ton/
I wouldn’t want you to break your neck when the weapon’s swung/
I chain parts of speech together—my chain heavy/
There ain’t a combo breaker alive, with aim steady enough/
To maintain fire when I rain deadly/
My pen stains sheets like causes of pain every/
Four weeks for them womenfolk, initial strokes/
Are well thought-out like subliminal quotes, unh/
To minimize my mistakes in minutes/
Resulting in refined rap, I relate to rhythms/
And I relate to rhythms, my heart pumps similar/
Can’t say the same for these chump gumps, I’m feelin’ none/
They wanna disown the moniker ‘Conscious’/
I ain’t mad they gettin paper, see my problem’s the sponsors/
Seem like every other movie or game’s about zombies/
Look at the music allow me to clear the laundry/
They finally got these kids in a corner—right where they want ‘em/
Just keep ‘em dumb and entertained then pull the rug out from ‘em/
In 7 to 10 years, when the recession’s over/
They won’t be qualified for NOTHING without a diploma/
Obeezy’s got us feelin’ stupid we participated/
We finally seeing that the government is miscreated/
A lotta things look good on paper, how the practice look/
The practice of paper-chasing makes for a permanent jooks/
That’s why we flipped it—g’on and occupy a nation on ‘em/
And back ‘em up against the Wall until we take it from ‘em

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