I have a dream. Of a scene between the green hills. Clouds pull away and the sunlight's revealed. People don't talk about keeping it real. It's understood that they actually will. And intoxicated and stimulated emcees. Staring in the trees. Paranoid. Are gone in the breeze. Watch them flee. Hip hop heads. Take a walk with me. And what you'll see is a land. Where the sand's made of crushed up wax. And the sky beyond you is krylon blue. And everybody speaks in a dialect of rhyme. Emcees have left materialism behind them. Meanwhile I just grip my mic. And hope me and my team make it through alright. Because say what you will. And say what you might. But don't ignore who it's for. At the end of the night. Because this is dedicated to the kids. Dedicated to wherever music lives. Dedicated to those tired of the same old same. And dedicated to the people advancing the game. What's real is the kids who know that something's wrong. What's real is the kids who think they don't belong. What's real is the kids who have nowhere to run. Who are hiding in the shadows waiting for the sun. I've seen a lot of shit. I've talked to a bum out on sunset strip. He asked me how would you feel. If everybody acted like you didn't exist. You'd lose your grip. Probably eventually flip. So let it be known. The only reason that we do this. Is so you can pick it up. And just bang your head to it. While emcees fight to see who could be the commonest. We float overhead like a space odyssey monolith. Overseeing the game. Over being part of the same. Old thing it's all gonna change. In a hurricane of darkness and pain. In acidic rain and promises you won't do it again. Meanwhile I just grip my mic. And hope me and my team make it through alright. Because say what you will. And say what you might. But don't ignore who it's for. At the end of the night. Because this is dedicated to the kids. Dedicated to wherever music lives. Dedicated to those tired of the same old same. And dedicated to the people advancing the game. What's real is the kids who know that something's wrong. What's real is the kids who think they don't belong. What's real is the kids who have nowhere to run. Who are hiding in the shadows waiting for the sun. Pulling me close the shadow is warm inside. This is where I feel at home. this is my place to hide. Pulling me close the shadow is warm inside. This is where I feel at home. this is my place to hide. This is dedicated to the kids. Dedicated to wherever music lives. Dedicated to those tired of the same old same. And dedicated to the people advancing the game. What's real is the kids who know that something's wrong. What's real is the kids who think they don't belong. What's real is the kids who have nowhere to run. Who are hiding in the shadows waiting for the sun. This is dedicated to the kids. Dedicated to wherever music lives. Dedicated to those tired of the same old same. And dedicated to the people advancing the game. What's real everybody who doesn't feel safe. What's real everybody who knows they're out of place. What's real everybody with nowhere to run. Who will hide from the shadows waiting for the sun