| Renaissance, Priesthood, Bo King, throw ya M’s up
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| My father houses many mansion, Maccabeez House, walk in
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| This is hip hop once my lips part
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| I spit dark words of proverbs
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| A parables or varibles?, it’s Observed
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| My heart is gothic when I carve it
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| My pad is covered with darkness
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| I start writin' with lightning
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| My words appear like they comets, astonished
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| The way arm’s swift, beneath my garment
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| Holsters under armpits, Priest the promised
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| Roast those who smoked the bones of 'Muhammad (pbuh)'
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| Canvas paintings 'The Virgin'
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| Jewels beneath the turbans of a merchant
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| I flew for the serpent, push the truth in each person
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| A hundred doves in the church chirpin'
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| Flock past the preacher’s sermons
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| Look again, there’s the Priest emergin'
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| If a die, the sky will rain drops of frankincense
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| So embrace the prince
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| Maccabee Priest, my faculty’s deep
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| We raise from the dead, get up, then we clap the police
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| I 'Quantum Leap' through the beats
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| The rest of the troupe, rose upon the leaf
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| My pen fondle through sheets
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| This is street poetry, in the hood Bibles
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| Ghetto gospels, unholy bullets flyin' in streets — apostles
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| It’s the +Maccabeez House+
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| Be careful of the doors you open
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| 'Cause it might be ya casket closin'
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| It’s the +Maccabee House+
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| Be careful of the doors you open
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| 'Cause it might be ya casket closin'
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| We got it locked like the Solomon’s key, obviously
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| The fruit don’t fall, too far from the tree
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| So my seeds’ll be a Prophet like me
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| Before they grow into a Maccabee
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| Surrounded by snakes and Pharisees
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| Play the leaves at the speed of an owl, wrote novels
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| And send for the heads of Bush and Colin Powell’s
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| I rest on 'The Thirteenth Floor' with the broken elevators
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| My mind be as vivid as John the Revelator
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| Call me Razah the Renaissance, the Icon Polaroid
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| Build with the killaz that’s broke, and unemployed
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| I ain’t tryin' to go feminine to sell like Eminem
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| I’m 8 Miles ahead of 'em, blowin' the breath at 'em
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| My weapons by biochemical, I ain’t gimmick-al
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| You dealin' with the future of the cyber-criminals
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| 2010, more goons movin' in
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| Men came from the womb, so we soon die of sin
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| I’m a room in the room, don’t turn my doorknob
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| I ain’t St. Valentine, but I’m still a heart throb
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| It’s the +Renaissance Child+, replace the art they rob
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| I don’t place it on the walls, now I place it in bars
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| It’s the +Maccabeez House+
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| Be careful of the doors you open
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| 'Cause it might be ya casket closin'
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| It’s the +Maccabee House+
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| Be careful of the doors you open
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| 'Cause it might be ya casket closin'
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| You know I’m King by blood, got Solomon genes
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| If you look close, you could see my angel wings
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| Halo fitted, on me like the Mitchell and Ness
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| An the power that’s possessed is a Heavenly bless
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| Call me Landlord, I own a twelve room house
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| Acres of green pastures with sheep’s and cows
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| Hebrew thugs, the streets call me Young Jehovah
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| Send a prayer to those lost souls trapped inside 'em
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| Wash up in a fountain of youth with no cloth
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| And we don’t wear, symbols of death, no cross
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| Jacob son, no kin to Jacob’s slums
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| It’s the house of Israel, where the neighbors come
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| Knock at the door, get greeted by the Tribe of Dan
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| If you steal anythin', we choppin' off ya hands
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| Respect the Kingdom, this where I rest my head
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| Crown of David, haircut round and faded
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| Robe of light, tailor made, go with the Timbs
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| And my look is so sharp you be callin' me Shim
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| My first and last name on the deeded bread
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| Shalom, I the seed of Eden, the mice is dead
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| It’s the +Maccabeez House+
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| Be careful of the doors you open
|
| 'Cause it might be ya casket closin'
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| It’s the +Maccabee House+
|
| Be careful of the doors you open
|
| 'Cause it might be ya casket closin' |