| Here’s the story of a dude named Jack Kerouac
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| Who hit the road 'cause he was never coming back
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| To write an epic book and see the country
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| With a very close friend named Neal Cassady
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| They were lovers but we didn’t know until much later
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| 'cause America then was full of homophobic haters
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| It was all about the journey and spontaneous prose
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| At the Six Gallery he heard Ginsberg flow
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| 'cause Jack went hard and got turnt up
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| Passed the port after he filled his cup
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| A Catholic Buddhist with a giant heart
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| He wrote everything down the in the service of his art
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| Went to Big Sur, saw a dead otter
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| Thought about his mom his cat and his father
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| Drank himself to death in his Florida home
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| Was laid to rest in Lowell at 47 years old
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| Who’s that? |
| Jack, Jack, Jack Kerouac! |
| Who’s that?
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| (The French Canadian Dharma Bum, who lived his life to the maximum)
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| Who’s that? |
| Jack, Jack, Jack Kerouac! |
| Who’s that?
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| (Writing poems down in Mexico, left his mark just to let you know)
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| 2Pac Shakur, yes I’m sure
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| Was the Kerouac of rap 'cause they both opened doors
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| They defined a culture, both died really young
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| Both came West and had hella fun
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| They went out in the club with with their fans getting hyphy
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| Up in the bar with their crew drinking nightly
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| Prolific and brilliant and real and alive
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| Made poetry mainstream and changed people’s lives
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| East Coast to Marin well they both made the trek
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| The Thug Life purveyors who always caught wreck
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| Poets who loved and supported their moms
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| And when they were focused their words were the bomb
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| Maligned by the press for their derelict ways
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| The gangster aesthetic, a sideways beret
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| The posthumous gifts of two iconoclasts
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| RIP 2Pac and RIP Jack
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| Who’s that? |
| Jack, Jack, Jack Kerouac! |
| Who’s that?
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| (No commitments, feeling free, up all night writing constantly)
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| Who’s that? |
| Jack, Jack, Jack Kerouac! |
| Who’s that?
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| (Literary iconoclast, who grabbed the moment and made it last)
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| Who’s that? |
| Jack, Jack, Jack Kerouac! |
| Who’s that?
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| (A Lonesome Traveller, On the Road, writing prose about the life he chose)
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| Who’s that? |
| Jack, Jack, Jack Kerouac! |
| Who’s that?
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| (Stacks of paper, piling up, shot of whiskey up in his cup)
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| And I’m talking about the Beats
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| Not the ones you’re hearing on Ableton
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| 'cause the whole hip-hop generation
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| Really could not have been enabled son
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| To express a postmodern view point
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| Form the streets to the stage to the stadium
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| Without Burroughs or Ginsberg or Kerouac
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| Cause antiquated norms they were changing them
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| With art and music and poetry and prose
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| But counterculture then was a big no no
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| Cause Cold War America was all about fear
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| Conformity and status, '57 was the year
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| When On the Road changed the game
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| Then Howl and Naked Lunch set the world aflame
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| It would never be the same as you already know
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| Kerouac opened doors with that beatnik flow
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| Who’s that? |
| Jack, Jack, Jack Kerouac! |
| Who’s that?
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| (World renowned for his honest words, shouted loud 'til his voice was heard)
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| Who’s that? |
| Jack, Jack, Jack Kerouac! |
| Who’s that?
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| (Defined a movement and paved the way, so MCs like me could take the stage)
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| Who’s that? |
| Jack, Jack, Jack Kerouac! |
| Who’s that?
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| (Bad reviews all in his face, but no one else could ever take his place)
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| Who’s that? |
| Jack, Jack, Jack Kerouac! |
| Who’s that?
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| (A Roman candle in the dark, who exploded like a spider across the stars)
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| OUTRO:
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| Nowadays everybody want, to tweet like they got something to say
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| But nothing comes out when they move their thumbs, they just let their fingers
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| run
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| And bloggers wanna act like they forgot about Jack (x4)
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| Who’s that? |
| Jack, Jack, Jack Kerouac! |
| Who’s that? |
| (x2)
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| Who’s that? |