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Artist: Bronze Nazareth f/ Kevlaar 7
Album:  Thought for Food, Vol. 1
Song:   Live From
Typed by: Tha Masta

[kung fu sample overlapped by intro]
You wanna help? It's your duty
	If it is our duty, what if our shift comes in for while?
	What were you thinking?
I was thinking... you're an expert

[Intro: Kevlaar 7]
Yeah... Kevlaar 7, Bronze Nazareth
Fucking with... yo, yo, aiyo...

[Kevlaar 7]
Live from the home that birthed Al Green
I bring more heat that grits in third degree seams
Queens get ya pot holders, I'm brolic as novas
Jehovah spoke through me, told y'all it's over
In fact I crack the canyon inside ya Earth
And casted my shadow on the last man standing
Branded his brain, uncandidly crack/cocaine
Clever ruffian, my nation equits me to shame
Contained within my own concrete jungles
Streets crumble, trouble, blood heat bubbles
Type O fucker if I need a body double
If my heart valves close like the lens on the Hubble
Impossible, I play dominoes on top of live volcanoes
Sit lava with a mouth of gasoline, pages
Ageless flow, I'm in history pages next to James Monroe
With a gat to his dome
Watch the lava shot blow, recite pharaohistic poems
Hieroglyphics show, yo the crypt is my home
Inside I construct authentic kinetic gold
Interlacing you bitches with visionary flows

[Chorus: Bronze Nazareth]
Aiyo live from the landfills, my thoughts they can kill
Like stones and anvils, cats they close landmills
Cats flows on standstill, grams, noses, sandpills
Stand close to God, but how could a man build?

[Bronze Nazareth]
Aiyo, live from Motown, Gun Rule, Hellbound
Sell pounds to sale, vibrant rhythm and soundscape
Break thoughts in place, my words sour the taste
Scrolls is old gold, rivers are concrete waste
Kill you where the swans meet
I wouldn't do it but I'm just trying to eat
Cold as my environment's heat
Sat on mountains, drunk in the hills with gypsies
Love South Central Cartel, it's hard to miss me
Face in your history texts, reflects from slaves
Specs like Ray Charles seeing from his grave
He said, "Bronze, you could hear the color of clouds
Or see the sound of existence like brail printed out"
Pops was a soldier, M-16's hit him
I've walked with the pain of a thousand suicide victims
Bleed misery and hope on the same page
Soak in the same rain, smoke in my ribcage


This is Thought for Food, nigga
Get it nigga, get it nigga, get it...

[George Carlin sample]
I'm an American and I expect a little cancer in my food and water