[Verse 1: Suffa]
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We went from spitting jams to fifty fans in a little cramped room,
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A shoebox you couldn't fit a shoe in to touring,
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Switzerland with my man in a mini-van,
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Being the man of the minute can happen in a minute man,
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And it's funny, I've seen buddies that I trust turn away,
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a¢æ?Cause money can't buy you love but It can earn you hate,
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And none of you gave a fuck till the movement went large,
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Now every crew is making music, every dude has got bars,
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Now every half-ass bar fly up in the bar rhymes,
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We sit about, spitting a¢æ?bout the dark and the hard times,
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But got perspective on the fighting for the crowns and the such,
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When we encountered and old pal who had been down on his luck,
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In some Volleys pushing trolleys eating soup from a tin,
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My girls like golly, man these pollie's aren't improving a thing,
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Well swap your worries for some Bolly, swap your suit for some wings,
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And fly with us, we light it up and it's a beautiful thing
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[Verse 2: Classified]
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That's where I started at, the days of Walkmans and Starter hats,
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The open mic nights mastering the art of rap,
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We man-made, underground like an artefact,
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We don't need to worry when the market crash,
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I'm from the bottom, bottom of New Scotland,
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Planted all my seeds watered them then watched it blossom,
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Then they try to tell me over time we'd be forgotten, rotten,
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Thinking that you'regonna keep me boxed in? Nonsense,
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Hilltop and Class rock till your noggin's nodding,
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You can walk in my shoes but never fit in my jeans,
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I do this with no option till my body's old and rotten and exhausted,
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Keep it going cause I'm living my dream,
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Till the grave we'll spit the pain and, when it comes to picture painting,
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We might be the illest rated with the visuals illustrated,
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That's ill communication, therapy for life without the rehabilitation,
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Keep waiting I'm about to blow up
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[Verse 3:]
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We about to blow it up, but we all started this as amateur,
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Carving out a path was a hardship for the traveller,
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It said that raps a facade, you'll never manage it,
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In these parts, I guess it's our scars that give us character,
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We misfits and slackers, at risks kids or hackers,
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With a wish list, sick of doing six shifts at Macca's,
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From listeners to rappers, prestigious to hapless,
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I don't need a gift to know that this shit is backwards,
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When we're done officially another visionary,
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Will lights the flame, write their name in their sweat, blood and infamy,
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It's gutter symphony fuck the industry,
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Let them come we're the ones carving history,
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So we rhyme for the hurting, poor hard working for,
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International heard applaud to local suburban tour,
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Y'all gave a purpose for the roar when the curtains draw,
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Furthermore ask yourself what you're searching for?
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[Verse 4:]
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Follow me to a place I like to go,
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Liner notes are signposts to find that which lies below,
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Born in eighty eight so I came in late,
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To find for the first time in life I felt right at home,
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Through the growing pains and hostile takeovers,
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People trying to put us down like Beethoven,
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We stayed strong and remained focused,
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Until they had no other choice but to stand up and take notice,
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Never thought what I wrote on a page back in the day,
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Would ever have me catching a plane,
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Or rapping up on a stage,
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Staring out at the crowd in amazement,
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Thinking back on the days when,
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We were confined to the limitations of the basement,
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The subterranean kids became the main event,
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I pay respect to those who spent days laying foundations,
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Countdown to detonation
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The Underground
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Hilltop Hoods |