| Yeahhh. |
| a-ha-ha-ha!
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| Lyricist Lounge.
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| Yo, comin to you live
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| Live, live, live
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| One-two, one-two
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| One-two, one-two
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| One-two, one-two
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| Broadcastin live on W.K.Y. |
| — A., it’s Sa-Dog in the place and uhh
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| (Yo, it’s Funk Doc in the place and uhh)
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| Yo, yo, get prepared for the double-homicidal, spit reality
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| So rare got you thinkin it’s from another galaxy
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| Opened a whole bottle of throttle, WHOOP-ASS
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| Then with one blast, I’m spillin your Mas Clamato
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| Hang out the black Tahoe, animated like John Bravo
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| With four fingers stuck in the five hole
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| Of any given chickenhead, ridin shotgun
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| I took a lesson from Knockboots, (??) popped 'em
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| It’s Doc place your bets, I’m live D-88 cassette
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| I’m down low, I don’t think me and my neighbors met (HI!)
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| Raisinette sized hoes in your Avirex
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| (You fall off) like inter-racial relationships
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| It’s, the rare mooley, can’t do nar' to me
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| Only kid in fifth grade with a infrared toolie
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| I’m hard-headed, check sun like Con-Eda
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| Sick flows stay ridin with the paramedics
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| I fuck bitches freaky like albino winos
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| With five hoes, high off of Tae-Bo fine flows
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| Paint pictures, so scary
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| That motherfuckers say Sauk you spittin obituaries
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| Not verses but viruses, get it?
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| The mic is like pussy tight and I’m paid to hit it
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| (You know you did it) I get the dough (Nigga switch your flow)
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| I’m the real jiggalo, nigga you’re Deuce Bigalow
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| Temporary, switchin like the seasons change
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| My team rearrange and bring a whole decade of rain
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| I bite through steel, with these jaws of, life
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| Get rocked when Doc and Sauk is on the, mic
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| Broads used to say Redman, don’t listen to him
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| Now they whipped cause I’m in the bed, kissin on Kim
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| Hips, guerilla my color my nail and my skin
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| Dipped in hair so get bears to box 'em in
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| With (GRRR) I’m the D, similar to Michigan
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| I’m hittin the pussy, y’all babysittin them
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| That’s why hoes wanna, flatten my Michelins
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| In front of my house with, fuck you signs picketin
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| Punkin out to a fight dog? |
| It ain’t us
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| Clean my teeth and Timberlands with the same brush
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| I stretch your body out like Jack Lalanne does
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| O.J. |
| attitude, Doc carry the same gloves
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| Remember me, Doc’s Da Name?
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| Brick City, T-Dot, padlock the game
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| If it reigns then it’s Doc and big Sauk to blame
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| Herbie Hancock MC’s — ROCKIN IT
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| We be kickin your ass. |
| on W.K.Y.A
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| We be kickin your ass. |
| on W.K.Y.A
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| Say do it feel good to ya? |
| (WHAT?)
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| Say do it feel good to ya? |
| (Wait a minute!)
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| Say do it feel good to ya? |
| (WHAT?)
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| Yo. |
| exclusive on W.K.Y.A
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| Hey DJ. |
| DJ. |
| DJ. |
| my DJ slice the one and two
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| My hip-hop union’s all in favor of cuttin you
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| My aphrodis' fo' scheez found a slut in you
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| Soon as I find a frame strong enough to cut for two
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| I’m overstoked plus I’m airin dudes
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| With metaphors sicker than microwaved airplane food
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| I dare take two pulls, off the blunt that Red rolled
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| With head full of mari-when-I-bury-one
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| Wack nigga chasin the clout thing
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| Tryin to out bling (bling) I knocks him out ring
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| Yo E TURN IT UP if niggas is doubtin
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| Bout to bust, when it blows, we movin without him
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| Sauk, watch my two arms drop bombs on they entourage
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| Fuck you, the beef we love to jump it off
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| Don’t matter what hood Doc stompin on
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| Look what I done to dog, bumba claat
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| Fucked up in the trunk of his aunt garage
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| He thought I clap guns, but my guns applaud
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| Fuck the guns, my palm is up to guard
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| Whether I live or die is up to God
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| Guerilla tactics, way I, fuck a broad
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| Robbin me? |
| You might be, up in yours
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| Hospital with a IV, stuck in arm
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| To finish off, it might be, (??)
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| (Watch your back) or better yet, watch you front
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| Watch you die, over this cheap watch you want
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| Here it is! |
| The shells of a shotty comin
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| So next time I get stuck, it’s accupunct' |