| HighFocus
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| In the buildin', we stay buildin'
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| Uh, I’m so high, I see my vessel that my soul’s attached to
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| No lie, I’m like a lion when I’m rhymin' at you
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| From the solar plexus, golden fire rises at you
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| Apply the pressure like Shiatsu
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| But it ain’t you to take your final breath, I tie a lasso
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| And hang like basketballers, slam-dunkin' hoops
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| I feel the vibe like a masseuse
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| Killin' time with the raccoons, never get in line to pay them taxes,
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| like they ask you
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| I’m gonna catch you off guard, hol' up at you
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| It’s apart from the glance, but no glass in my
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| Yes, we come
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| Accept our system is a scam!
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| So don’t be plottin' on no ghost train
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| Go and help out, my city and us melt down
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| Cookin' up what’s the only ingredients of the shelf now
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| Never out of date, I make you elevate
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| These feather weights will better stay the hell away or I’ll detonate
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| I feel the glow no matter what the hell the weather say
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| I’m killin' show, collect my pay, get waved another day
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| I stand walled, never losin' my inner child
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| Forever movin' like the Nile, the world’s spinnin' while we walt
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| Jesus spillin' off the face of mother nature while we smile
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| We’re in denial, left to trial
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| If the queen be my beat, well, I must be a king of style
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| Individual like fingerprints in the ghost sense of
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| I’ll break your faith down to increment some eatin' while you linger in the
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| aisle
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| Got a dinner tray, no denim on that plate though
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| Prophesizin' like I’m Plato
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| Hold your mind like
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| Find the light becomin', then I done a halo
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| Whoever’s on that fungus foam, hot potato
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| Ghostbusters clocked the duppy man,
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| like, vitamins instead of healin'
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| Ritalin, we needin' discipline yet no one’s listenin'
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| Forgot we’re flyin' through this holographic universe
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| It’s cinematic like some distant planets, enigmatic
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| When I capture the magic and calibrate it into classics
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| rapture in the reds of my passage
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| Your symptoms of illness, you blink and they will vanish
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| Drink to that like it’s magic! |
| Get kicked back, relaxing
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| Comma spliffs fat and bangin' like the beats that I rap on
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| Soon to blow like I left the gas on
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| It’s like that, son
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| It’s like that, son
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| It’s like that, son |