| too many niggas talk hard then shit bricks when the beef hits
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| fight night, where are you?
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| behind another nigga like a eclipse
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| real cats throw down while you hide your paws
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| you as soft as the gauze paramedics gonna wrap ‘round your jaws
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| how you act up, don’t back up your words, just your nerve
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| in a room full of goons, you and your crew are hors d’oeuvres
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| please, don’t act like no killer if you ain’t no gorilla
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| real apes break limbs and your heart got sap flowing in it
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| let me pull you off to the side so you get slapped for a minute
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| you plus a sort a nigga don’t equal Popeye on spinach
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| ooh, who told you that?
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| that’s for show lose rap
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| i’ll take my knuckles and make you a brand new hat
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| look too hard for beef end up with a brand in your back
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| take a stand or take the stand and say: «he did that»
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| it’s your choice my friend, this your voice my friend
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| that’s done got you inside this predicament
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| hold out your mouth buncha bitches and hoes
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| the realest of real niggas know how this goes
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| talkin’although like you control the scene
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| you’re mean, but what does this mean?
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| big mouth, every night, every fight a nigga there front door
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| it’s the gatin' like Satan but facing no blows
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| you talk it but beat around the bush like a lez'
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| no Grandmaster Flash, never been round no ledge
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| so you beat on the girls, beat on your chest
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| but when shit get tense a nigga be on his best
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| a bit of suspense a nigga be in his dress
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| see stress, you turning princess
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| what do you do?
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| hey let people know you a tool
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| and Jonas brothers all rock harder than you
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| so you, cold front like the leader of cool
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| and a king in the legion of fools |