| Yo tech, it’s the last call baby it’s good
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| Yeah, you know a remix just feels right dog?
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| Before we get outta here, you gotta drop one last gem on them
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| Knahmsayin?
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| No question, it’s like the elders told me
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| No one person can do anything, but everyone can do something
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| So we gotta rep, for all the niggaz that ain’t here right now
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| The outro tip, the One Remix, yo
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| One Enterprises, comprises the artist and the sound
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| The pen and paper plays my savior while I’m getting down
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| Pray for my nieghbors as a favor for holding me down
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| Slave for my papers as I savor the way that it pounds
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| It’s underground, but the blatent vibrations widely found
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| Facing the nation complacent radio stations now
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| Stop hesitaing and contemplating the way we paitient
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| Start motivating and get them playin the shit we sayin
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| Ain’t no delayin in this war that we gettin slayed in
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| Cause times a waistin while we stand adjacent to abrasions
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| They fouls are more than flagrant
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| And so I see the prisons cages while I pound the pavement
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| Looking for payment saying fuck enslavement
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| Usin the tools of old ancients
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| Announcing my engagment to this music that we making
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| Ain’t no faking on tracks, and we ain’t never come wack (never!)
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| Immortal Technique and Akir y’all niggaz fear us that’s a wrap
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| It’s like
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| One love
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| One music
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| One people
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| One movement
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| One heart
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| One spark
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| One, One, One, One
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| One gift
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| One lift
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| One stance
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| One shift
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| One way
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| One day
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| One, One, One, One, One
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| Immortal Technique in the trenches with my nigga Akir
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| Our family surived the genocides so we can be here
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| And now we enterprise the aftermath, one in the same
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| Living the revolution 'till we catch one in the brain
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| And even then my spirit will return in heavenly form
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| And wipe the chess board clean, of my enemies pawns
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| The red don communist threat, burried and gone
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| So they invented a war, the government can carry on
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| It makes me wonder if the word of god is lost in the man
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| This is for the children of Iraq, lost in the sand
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| This is for the illest emcees that’ll never be known
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| And this is for all the soldiers that’ll never come home
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| I wrote this for Momia, stuck in a beast
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| For people who, march in the streets, and struggle for peace
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| For hood niggaz, born rugged, never rocking Versace
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| Eddie Ramierez’s cousin George, and my old friend Sashi
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| Chris from the block, and all my niggaz stuck in a cell
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| Paul Wolfowitz, motherfucker I’ll see you in hell
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| My destiny is to show the world, that the music is real
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| Go back in time and play this shit, for the slaves in the field
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| And for my children in the future, waiting to breathe
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| People slowly dying hanging on, waiting to leave
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| Believe when I’m gone, and this album’s on a library shelf
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| I’ll be one with god and one with you and everything else
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| Yeah.
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| Revolutionary Volume 2 has been brought to you
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| By the type of motherfuckers who ain’t scared of shit
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| And if you playing this album, and I’m no longer here
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| And sometime far away from when I recorded this
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| Remember that history
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| Isn’t the way the corperate controlled media made it look like
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| Read between the lines and free your mind
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| Revolution is the birth of equality
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| And the anti-thesis to oppression
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| But this is only built for real motherfuckers
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| So when I’m gone, don’t let nobody I never got along with
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| Try to make songs kissing my ass, recycling my beats or my vocals
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| The shit is real over here man
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| Thank you for listening, and thank you for supporting independent Hip Hop
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| The heart and soul of our culture
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| Keeping the truth alive
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| Goodnight my people. |
| goodnight. |