| This for the cities we reside in
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| When we ride you hear that pounding
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| Victory is in our voices ya’ll
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| That is our culture they exploit huh
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| Been a long time ya’ll
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| 'Till we cross that finish line ya’ll
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| I’m committed, I’m committed
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| I’m committed to this life that I’m living
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| Ain’t no use in quitting, this the only one i got
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| So Imma make the best of it, like a compilation disc is
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| This is, the motion of a march, Bonaparte
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| My soldiers know that it’s cold, but we enlisted
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| No foams on my feet, but there’s Go-go in my drums
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| So you already know that where I’m from, don’t be dumb
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| And we 'gon make you understand our language like the British
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| Go head with all that, young, and nice slim vicious
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| That’s what the city whisper in my ear when I come visit
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| I could kick it, and the area I’m from ain’t nothing different
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| Because my people know that when I travel, I’m just marching on a mission
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| To introduce to the globe, that we the gifted
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| Exquisite at this rap, so cover me in paper
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| I’m marching to the bank, my shoe box went into labor
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| I hope ya’ll (?)
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| (We gotta march on)
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| (I say we gotta march on)
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| This for the cities we reside in
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| (We gotta march on)
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| When we ride you hear that pounding
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| (I say we gotta march on)
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| Victory is in our voices ya’ll
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| (That's why we march on)
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| That is our culture they exploit huh
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| (I say we gotta march on)
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| Been a long time ya’ll
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| (We got to march on)
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| 'Till we cross that finish line ya’ll
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| (Yea we gotta march on)
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| If this the last dance, check out my grand stance
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| We deep rooted, keep moving, spreading the brand
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| Cham-pion that freedom flow, We 'gon stampede 'em
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| Ask amigos how we go, they say the trios that (?)
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| Freshest they say, bless us with the presses like Smeagol
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| Tend to write regal, making a reboot
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| My rhyme book is a easel, and I’m spilling that acrylic over the page
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| Motivate, multiply, apologize, fold away
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| Every levee, every time I demonstrate, how we lift away
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| True you are who you are, but um, this is what you ain’t
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| A myth the day, can we forget the history
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| Loud enough to turn the mic up, and ain’t got shit to say
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| And thisa way, turn your full head thisa way
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| Attention span short, (?)
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| Nobody want to put in that work, yet they want to be bosses
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| If your taken what you’re given, then you’re living like corpses
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| Get rich, and put your picture in the portrait
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| Then tell who ever sent you, Diamond District is the fortress
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| We lighting torches, when we combining forces
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| Writing like the 63, 28 for office
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| Uh-
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| You got that chain you 'gon die for?
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| You got that Benz, you 'gon ride for it?
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| You the niggas I came down from the sky for?
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| That’s what God said nigga, it ain’t my fault
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| You got your gift, you 'gon make money with it?
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| You could go right, or left, breadwinner, or bummy nigga
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| You got your rights, you 'gon stand for 'em
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| No question on this side, 'cuz we (?)
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| I’mma say what’s needed on this platform
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| Trayvon died in the grass ya’ll
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| Jay late for (?), instead of (?) y’all
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| (?), god of war, preserved, to put the plaques on
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| 2093 'till, like (?) waiting
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| Watch how we transcend over imitations
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| With no limitations, ya’ll perpetrating
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| We demonstrating, the long awaited
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| Oh you like that real shit up in your speakers?
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| If you riding down in Georgia nigga go to Rita’s
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| Oh I use to live on (?), that’s right after (?)
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| Grew up like, you in the field, or you on the bleachers
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| Uh! |
| You want your moms out the hood right?
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| Roaches crawling in, and out your good Nikes
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| Landlord saying dirty days
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| That was the (?) for my dirty ways
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| But when its all said, and done
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| There’s a special place where we from
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| Fuck the battles, we carry our shit to the sun
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| Destined to win, we are the ones |