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Run the track
Ooh, it's it's so funky (yes it is)
It's it's so funky (15 after da hour baby)
Ooh, it's it's so funky (something always happens)
Words by Adrian Mitchell, music by Arlo Guthrie

Victor Jara of Chile
Lived like a shooting star
He fought for the people of Chile
With his songs
and a spare in the back
Lord who could ever ask for more
Sitting up high as the world goes by
Kicking-up dust in your tracks
It's a matter of pride
the future tracks from the past)
This is radio-mass (I'm a thief I stole the beat)
This is radio-mass (Tracks from the future tracks from the past)
This is
How you do that I call it dope boi magic

I get it nine in tha mornin' by night it just plastic
How you do that I call it dope boi magic
I'm fresh
For the groove
And them bomb beats
To make me move

Color of dead
Looks like the future is history

Why you dissin' me
ain't no mystery
And them bomb beats
To make me move

Color of dead
Looks like the future is history

Why you dissin me
Ain't no mystery

On the outside peekin in
End of your
of my life

Remember then? bit o honey days
Back when 8-tracks were the craze with that Far-out sound
And the future seemed so far away
And we'd
world but never been to Florida

They holdin' my shit, all winter
By the time the shit drop, I done already been there
The game's fucked, a thousand
get me confused because
{I'M NOT HIM} Boy you in trouble
Guns pack a couple, a one-man SWAT team
By any means, pull a Malcolm
House 'em have 'em
North 15th breakdancin with slick 

Nigga what  I'll beat your butt 

You niggas on a beef or what 

And if I gotta go deep I'll cut 

And if you
But somehow we've gotten off-track
And we never really got it back, no, yeah
I think we better find a way, yeah
And get right back to the good old
This ain't a twinkle twinkle little star
But this may be the fattest track by far
And still the competition is, eager to listen
I keep shooting,
To subatomic particles, strong enough to stop a bull 
Bodies slam, to oxygen, drop a mule 
Urinating rocket fuel, freestylin over gospel tunes 
Rhymes by
we're from
Detroit baby
You got 15 seconds to get this seat now
We're gonna start this show and blow your mind now
Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhh

(Who's your
We work through the rituals and cover our poisonous tracks
Making good use of weaknesses, horoscopes, rumors and facts
Inspired by the needles
to smack track
You the Mr. trapped-by-wack-contract
Me the black flag to kill on contact
You the dead roach, me the head coach
You player ready for
the zone all by myself
I'm alone all by myself, I'm on my own
But homes I could set the tone myself
And make the track that I could rap on myself

I wrote
Ha ha
You know the deal
It's just me yo
Beats by Su-Primo for all of my peoples, Negros and Latinos
And even the gringos

Yo, check it one for
[Mos Def]
Booka-booka-booka-booka-booka-booka
Ha hah
You know the deal
It's just me yo
Beats by Su-Primo for all of my peoples, negroes
hundred S drivin with hand on trigger
Crazy Lestat, check my track record
Everything I touch is gold since eighteen years old
So what that mean?  I roll
wrote that track last night
That's right
If me and that nigga battle it'll be his very last fight
Ate him up down to the last bite, with maple syrup
rock on)
We keep going

Nigga breath can tell by how you rap you don't believe
Ain't hungry no mo' so off me you feed
I hustle at a speed between greed
Future in the club, poppin bands on them hoes
Go ahead Gucci Mane, toss some grands on the floor
I'm gettin a table dance by a fine ass ho
Got me coming
Rollin' up another swisha, listenin' to the beat again
Drankin' but we concentratin', smoke another sweet again
Steadily rewindin', trying to make