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Hardcore
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People Under the Stairs
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Peoples under the stairs… Hardcore Straight to make the brothas act stupid… (scratched and repeated) (Check it out…) I wreck shop with no bullsh*t in my china store Lord Radio, matador, red in the meter Born Latin I didn't introduce Staten aboard a ship Your mother (don't say it!) (?) Maneuver loops like a Six Flags engineer Pursue a career in enlighten in herb You read about that Thes sighting? (?) seen the silhouette of my face in deep space Right in place of a white dwarf I mentally morph to enlist my skills where needed Creativity preceeded existence Be soul universal eternal kernel of parallel perception Infernal corrections with command of Mister Hale Bop Hard rock like the comet, you're dubbing on my tapes 'Cause your crew want it, your posse's gay like a bonnet So we'll sit and write a sonnet, pad of paper Second I put my pen on it, implodes Caper complete, Aaliyah, tell your brother I'm on the phone He not home, you got the message, then I'm gone… Peoples under the stairs… Hardcore Straight to make the brothas act stupid… (scratched and repeated) …Called sporadic, nomadic, static addict I wreak chromatic havoc with emphatic grammatics Trans-atlantic, Titanic-type panic and turn dynamic semantic Galactic syllabics to granite Incensed, in a sense, innocence past sense, in a sentence Present tense, past tense in the sentence, gain fame from imprints Eminence from dissidence, influence in increments Though instruments of impedence A semblance of symbionts through sentence and content Implementation of syncopation shows musical inclination Trace the styles into the future with innovation And leaving nothing but imprints for the next generation The interpretation of my iteration may lay the foundation Of a future generation of civilzation one day The oration of notation placed in hope on civilization Imagination and communication in a way Equivocation and gentrification and segregation Have no place in the hip-hop nation… so stay tuned! Peoples under the stairs… Hardcore Straight to make the brothas act stupid… (scratched and repeated) (Yeah, check this sh*t…) Hey money, who told you you could rap? In fact, word I'm checking soon as you done, n***a I'm flexing like buff white b*t*hes to your riches for my wags You the last one, but the first freestyling in the Hearse Hurt n***a, shoulda listened to your crew Now them n***as pouring 40s, smoking blunts for you Man, missing all the fun, mad b*t*hes on the place No longer a citizen from that one you suckas place Pull up your drawers, b*t*h, proceed to run this way Be embarrassed to see, and ain't got sh*t to say Except "n***a, don't you know this is such and such" Now you the dope MC, see no percent, worry-free Now that's a joke that wasn't funny like WB sitcoms Sit calm and check your Three Amigos ripped While you sip on that sh*t that got your pockets on zip mode You fell like your grandma when she drunk on Thanksgiving Got the tightest arthritis styles that can't move jack Put some time on your rhymes and give me the five on the sack 'Cause I've been there, perfecting it, n***a, and still doing it Put your grill in my face on some more silly sh*t, and yo, I'll ruin it Uh… I ain't never heard nobody rap like that You coming off with something dope, no need to worry about that Yo, just kick back, relax, pray that one day you'll be alright Yo, we killing it, right? Ha ha, yeah, right! Peoples under the stairs… Hardcore Straight to make the brothas act stupid… (scratched and repeated)
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