"...Cos you can feel it in your throat/I'm bout to let my mind float/get your third eye poked/fuck game, I assemble dope-ness/a nigga thats, fresh as the 'fess/studied this rap shit, no need to mic test..."
Things that feed my soul and eat my pockets...
The Sneaks, the garms, the beats, the rhymes, from the New-Era soul cats, to the plympsoles boppin' in their drain-pipes, the Big Smoke, a look at the streets, and the people in them.
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