Unlock ya locks, and keep ya keys   The Pac in me, got me thinkin deeply   I got to shock MC's, wit my philosophy   Cause I think very deeply   Where I come from, where you sweat ya pen up   Young gun rep-resenter, from the Ep-icenter   The microphone fienin, for a microphone   Before he knew what a microphone mean   Wit them four pounds, and they soundin them off   And them slugs, get them thugs, and the ground, get the chalk   Niggaz hearts is dissolvin, involved in   What Farakhan and, Jim Brown couldn't solve      I'ma tell you what I know, what I know      It's them +Boyz In the Hood+ it's always hard   You come talkin that trash, they'll pull ya card   Who would have known, that the boy growin up playin them cards   Will soon know the music he wrote, it was so true   Who could raise me, after I been amazed by Dre   And N.W.A., and you couldn't pay me   To back the staff for free, I will believe   It ain't nothin +Shady+ in the +Aftermath+   Perhaps when you unwrappin the plastic   You respect whatever you hear, and ya styles is growin   Them guys is clonin, them pioneers   Rappers wanna be classic, like they Clef, Pras, and Warren      I'ma tell you what I know, what I know      Elvis - was a hero to most   But he never meant shit to me, it's statements   Like that made me gage, White, Black, hate to make   Me say - I like, when they fight back, they   Me and rap, I vent myself   Leanin back, not knowin that I meant myself   A lesson comin fast, you dudes better catch it   Whenever the future answers ya questions from the past   And hold that, I'm spillin these cold raps   Cause I am a +Throwback+ you feelin the soldier   And keep tryin, to keep up wit the kind of guy   That'll play you until they fatally say that the game's over      I'ma tell you what I know, what I know      Oh my God, I destroy cities like the Blob   Goin from city to city, seein who I can rob   Goin from makin them poems up, in my garage   Then goin on major tours wit, me and my squad   Goin from listenin to Reggie, to meeting him   Wit my palms sweaty, to him, telling me - I'm dead meat   Goin from likin, to spray the club after a night   That didn't go my way, to plug a writin for Dre   You damn right I was raised, the amazin   Hand-writin on the same page, that you can't type on   So I black out, the usual same way   The old fashion rap, til it's no lights on      I'ma tell you what I know, what I know