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Word to Obama Ain't no revolutions, I just move it two degrees Then two degrees, then two degrees Real influence, lead by example not decree I keep my focus tied to the music and not a scene And I've been through it all, just doing this for sport I'm kind of getting bored of beating the top score, y'all It's Illy man, Baysides boy, Nepean made Roamed, wasn't built in a day, this started '98 Since a kid, been scribbling, repping the citadel No one's selling out, it's 2016, what's left to sell? But they'll buy into lies despite all the times I could tell Where I turned my back on the money and ran like Dave Chapelle One man army, king of my own mind, a warrior Dothraki I'm throwing my own party, hall pass it out at class Greener pasture calling part of me Quote JC "bro, they're Commodores to a Ferrari" Vroom vroom, click clacking, straight dapper Run rings, been lapping there and back around the block And I got my plan B in the end, if shit happens That said, name a law firm hiring ex-rappers This ain't no revolution, I just move it two degrees Then two degrees, then two degrees 'Cause at this point I'm sick of success, did it to death I'll do it for life, fuck it, this the shit I do best Letras de cancionesAnd I been sick since VIC kick, little lunch and Pikachus Man since show and tell I show and proved Real life's the interlude, flashback to my folks' living room Me at the dinner table whispering through long-forgotten lyrics and verses My folks on the couch while The Bill or Midsomer Murders play feet away on the tube Headphones on, discman on loop, Limewire instrumentals Finally gave your boy a platform to rip into I've learned if it ain't genuine, that image shit'll limit you This my story, against all odds, turned a dream into what I do No revolution, I just moved it two degrees Then two degrees, then two degrees From BMXing over McKinnon tracks Up and down Frankston line, bag packed with Dilly bags Every school night, without fail, save those for the classes Can't say the same for rap, I'm all Ws like 'Pac bitch Son of Bill and Rose, stoned on the last city bound homes Me for years, BPS-1, 1 eye on the Coppas in plain clothes Can't count, close call, forks in the road, on fingers and toes Fuck it, my luck rode And so, put it all out on the table Like it's '05, just me myself and I Digi scales, a plateful of bad news and a peace sign for the faithful 'Cause the past don't define you even if it creates you Curly Wurlies and grape juice, I'd rhyme 'till my face blue I'd die just to break through, met writers on the way Me, Lup and Jimmy Nice, bumping Kanye down Chapel Street Phrase shotgun, with a pound under the driver's seat It weren't no revolution, I just moved it two degrees Then two degrees, then two degrees Through life, I've hunted gigs man I fought to progress And turn this shit into a shot, no auto-correct If I went back to beginnings, I'd tell me "kids, you do you" Though you'll learn the hard way, trust me kid you'll improve And I wonder how much the younger me would trip if he knew Some of my close-to-centre dudes, we grew up listening to How sick is that? Illy, Illy and fizzle on the track One last time for the dynamic duo man Fizzle spaz'd, hit the gas, red flag turned checkered Ain't an LP bro, this our victory lap Cut the check, you can bet that the smart money says Phazes' got next, the way he got now, the way he had then Road for ten years, wherever the shit take him That's my brother for life, and I say the same about Flagrant Look, it weren't no revolution, we just moved it two degrees Then two degrees, then two degrees From undercut to a mop, underdog to a God Understated to major, unemployed to a boss Title-winning form, give it all Catch a breath, then applaud Ask me what I'm in it for? Forty-love, tennis score Always been game over, summer So I guess I took their spot Well too bad 'cause I ain't giving it back Zoomed out from a pin on the map to bigger pictures Had my share of indirect jabs and twitter fingers Still carry my city with me, every ounce that I give ya This that west of the freeway, this that south of the river And when I say goodbye and my number get retired Hang my jersey off the Rialto and let it ride Apologise for none of that, and real rep real So when you see him just tell him I said to holler back, wassup From Letras Mania