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Not the most lyrical or poignant song, but I guess it fits the day.

Reminds me alot of High School.

I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
I gotta get mine, you gotta get yours
get yours

[mc breed]

smooth as a wanna be, for quickly you a gonna be
{o thats the way it is}
f–k yea and thats the way its gonna be
why, puffin on a dank and drinking mad brew
taking names and after that I’m kickin ass too.
Breed, kinda of tha {can I get a rhyme to go}
hey yo Pac ill set back and design it slow.
they hate to see a young n—a, COME UP
another punk, RUN UP
and have to get his, GUN UP
cause um I aint takin no shorts, like a Newport, explortin the fully joint and
explodin on the whole court.
And I don’t wanna be, wanna be, nuttin like mike
cause even mike don’t miss every itty bitty triflin
and when you in the spotlight, you get um jocked right
but your life’s not tight.
buckin anybody forbed mine
when will they realize, I’m set out to get mine



I keep my mind on my money, money on my mind
finga on the trigga, n—a, hand on my nine
smokin blunts a skunk, akin h–s of punks
and only underground funk bumpin outta my trunk
live my life as a hustla, high till I die
meetin b—hes, gettin riches, miss me when lie
picture me living out my life as a busta
I ratha pop out a shot out my glock, and blast muthaf–kas
I live that thug life baby I’m hopeless, chokin off indo
tryin to keep my focus
don’t let that bullshit worry me, f–k the fame, I’m true to the game
till they bury me
God gave me game so I’m hustlin, pour out some liquor for my n—as
2pac is still strugglin
my n—a breed new the time, whether its rhyme or crime, n—a, I gotta get mine


now let me rushing threw your mind, I’m balla is what I keep gettin
every time I pick up the mic and start spittin
the sidewalk of new York will start bumpin
jumpin around, with the muthaf–kin pound
and I’m down to the fullest, and breakin n—as ass off proper
did you right, that’s right, cause I got you in my pocket again
the new jacks, the new jacks, use to be my n—as when I ran way back when
I boasted, and roasted, and coasted to the clinical cause ill do it again.
Like precision, cut the two lines in the division.
Plus, what I add loose as flutes. Its gaming foe sale like prostitutes.
I never had love for h–s, to put it blunt.
They want me in the back, but b—h I’m in the front.
Don’t front, and really I don’t need a reply.
Pull yourself together as you pass me bye.
I’m on a whole nother level, them h–s is left
I told you before, keep ya p—y to yourself
goodbye, some many n—as lied to have
funny what a muthaf–ka do for math
I got rats caught up in my everyday actions, point
equal to your realist satisfaction
buckin anybody that forbid mine
when will they realize, I’m set out to get mine


Eternally thug n—a Hilfiger made by Tommy
so when I speak hope to reach my? Mommy
oh come to poppy
I love it when you sweat?? ? more peeps
until I come to wake no one can stop me
my bump and grind
coming through ya every time
come get a blast of this thug passion
it’ll blow your mind
hey throw up your ? ?
Your shit around my back
it’s a Westside bang f–king h–s around the map
? Get down with Tupac while I’m? Out?
While they seduce my jimmy I’ll
be screaming give me body
make then h–s scream my name out
give me my? And don’t cha??
Thug n—a?? ?
I’m at the freaking parade
I’m watching caramel b—hes play
get with real n—as bullshitting never get your pay
this is the dream of a black tenn
? ? h–s cross-country like a greedy crack fiend
now come on

The manuscript Blue Lines is the fictional coming of age narrative of a young California woman Key Yemaya Walker, and her 2 year growing journey through school, love, and life period piece, written by Kenneth Suffern, Jr., taking place at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill between the years of 1997 – 1998. Loosely based on true events, and experiences during that time, told through the eyes and voice of the main female protagonist, a freshman first attending the school.