"For real.
E'rybody's a star, e'rybody shine
("Shine. Shine. Shine...")
Follow your heart and not mankind.
("Kind. Kind. Kind...")
For real, for real.
I'm 'bout to do my thing to shine.
Said everybody
shine.
C'mon."
It's not luck that I'm sittin' here
Spittin' for y'all.
Preeld in by Allah that I'm hittin' for y'all.
Growin' up on the New York concrete lookin'
lilke a little snotty dish of prodigy cookin'.
They called me Little Man all in the boulevard.
When I was young, my family used to party hard.
Gangs of uncatched kids turned to blood ketchup.
The illest niggas was
Richard Pryor and Ronnie Bump.
Skinned knees from being bad-ass little boys.
Police si-re-ns and baby screams
Was average noise.
Hip-Hop came, the ghetto copped the soundtrack.
Street poetry to tracks, could you beat that?
Malik Taylor introduced it to me.
He said, 'Forget Benny Hill, nigga.
Let's M.C.!'
Twelve years old, rhymin' in the backroom.
For echoes, we used to rhyme in the bathroom.
Run-D.M.C., Slick Rick and Doug E.
Fresh.
The Juice Crew rule but who's this nigga KRS?
Reference points, too many to wish for.
Battlin' niggas on trains, I stay raw.
Never let my dream die.
I was happy and high goin'
To Alee's and Bed-Stuy
We made our first demo tape.
Ex-cited like a mawfucka,
Lookin' for our first break.
I knowwwwwwwwww...
("F'real.")
You can do it.
Be abidin', chy'all.
("Listen to the story I tell, yo.
F'real.")
I knowwwwwwwwww...
("Don't let 'em hate to front you.")
You can see it.
("Get up and follow me and flow again.
Use my life as an example.")
Do it, and see it, and be nobody else!
Jungle Brothers, De La,
They gave me little light.
In Top, Three Fee
