| Yeah, yo, yeah, yo
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| Eddie Ill and DL
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| Yo, tell you what, man, yo check it out
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| This is Apathy the Alien Tongue of the Demigodz and the Tribal Eldest
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| Mr. I Don’t Give A Fluffalufagus
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| From Connecticut, know what I’m saying
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| I spit it like this, son
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| My damaging blows dismantling foes
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| Cause I be slamming new flows up in your arian domes
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| Do I be pampering hoes without a caring enclosed?
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| The answer is no
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| You’re played like a dancer at shows
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| With hammer pants and your bones
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| I’m like a cancer that grows even with chemo
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| To kill off your oversized ego
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| See, cats swear to god that they nice with raps
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| But when they write for the tracks it’s all about ice and gats
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| But when I attack, you would think Christ was back
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| Cause I’ll piss on your platinum flats and that’ll heal the whack
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| Then walk over watered-down raps
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| Make three classic albums, fall off, and still make an amazing comeback
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| My tour of duty’s never for a cutie or the booty
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| I’m just out for killing groupies like a verbal horror movie
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| I smack thugs like walking on your mom’s rugs with mud on the bottom of your
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| beat up lugs
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| You whack MCs can’t see the Alien Tongue
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| That’s impossible, like trying to bodyslam Big Pun
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| Y’all stole my style but my rap was packed with bojack
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| You got dragged and smacked when I finally took my flow back
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| I’m coming off the dome, like folicles on Cojack
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| I’m face to face with death like meet yo black
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| Abusing your mind for amusement
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| I’m bruising your brain like contusians
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| Y’all humans are losing
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| Sitting on top of Brandy
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| Trade deep thoughts with Jack Handy
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| To know me is to love me
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| But some people can’t stand me
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| Consede a creep I take a week to asnwer my beeps
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| I’m the King, I should be fed grapes and fanned with a leaf
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| Guys want me deceased
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| Girls give my name to they teddies
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| You’re whack, you don’t deserve like Kartin or Eddie
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| It starts in the belly so put some headphones in your stomach
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| Play my tape to your fetus
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| Watch him grow to be a genius
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| Cause even in a Walkman, where dying never readys
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| My raps sound fat like cats who breathe heavy
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| Blast music on a school day until the sky is moonlit
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| My downstairs neighbors bang the ceiling with a broomstick
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| If you don’t like my style, you ahve the wrong case
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| Rise, my mindstate is bigger than Spawn’s cape
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| Wasted, whack niggas swearing that they laced it
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| Face it, Rise on top, like a rapist
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| Kick rhymes is priceless, freestlyes across you
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| I’m an honor to rhyme with but a jerk to talk to
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| Mad quiet, you won’t even know that I’m there
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| My closets full of skeletons, I hang my coats on the chair
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| Legendary, people won’t believe I exist
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| One day I’ll be your favorite rapper and your reason to quit
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| In cyphers you get skipped while they passing to me
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| You write your illest rap shit when you imagine you’re me
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| But if I didn’t have rhymes, I’d probably lose my mind
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| And be up psycho late-night buying knives on channel 9
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| Even unsigned, all the rhymes I spit lethal
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| While your career’s lucky like people who need people
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| It’s the G-A-S to the T-O-N
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| I don’t need no friends, just a pad and pen
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| Got a master zen battling
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| Best rapper in the university, I earn my degree burning MCs
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| I’m qualified, I’m not surprised by your departure
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| You ain’t got the pride or the heart to survive
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| Try to convince me otherwise, but your rhymes are kinda iffy
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| To put it simply, not even Riplely’s could convince me
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| Turn rappers to mince meat
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| Ain’t met an MC better than me
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| They’s bodies cast off every penny they bet against me
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| Evidently, they never met me
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| And now they wish to god they hadn’t cause I’m too hard to manage
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| Start to panic try and assess the damage
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| Forget the bandage, get the ambulance
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| I leave bodies from East New York to West Los Angeles
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| But still there’s some nonbelievers
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| I guess I can’t convince them all
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| I’m standing six feet tall when on the ball
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| So let the chips fall where they may, I’m here to stay
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| But when the dust settles, where are they?
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| Scared them away
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| Write rhymes every day, rip mics every night
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| Make beats every week, I lead a rery for life
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| So Wiseguy
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| My brother my pal, won’t ya get on the mic right now and freestyle? |
| Wow
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| Now you done put me on the spot, I was gonna kick this written rhyme I got
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| Not. |
| I always go off the top
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| I was born with the ability to kill MCs
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| I got Spiderman’s agility
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| Flip on the mic like a white kid on the bike
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| Wiseguy got the rhyme you like whether day or night
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| I open you up like a Sprite, shake you up, make you explode
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| I grab the mic, cock it back and then reload
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| And explode on impact whenever I rap
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| I can’t help it, I’m the illest rapper on the map
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| Ill wipe you off of it because you’re soft and you should quit
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| Because you’re really not equipped with this shit I come up with
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| And conducted, raps are whack, you’re self-destructed
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| Wiseguy, I’m simply too much to fuck with
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| Say it isn’t so, a artist that niggas know
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| I’m light-skinned, height 5'10, pidgeon-toed
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| God blessed me, I didn’t plan to rhyme
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| But he gave you the gift to be a fan of mine
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| You stand in line to buy tickets for our events
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| All night on the cement in sleeping bags and tents
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| At school, I used to freestyle for women in class
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| Talk about the gardy ward and then they would give me the ass
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| then they would pass the word on to they roommates
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| Get they numbers for the summer and hit it over school break
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| I lay this verse in less than two takes, I’m hard to impress
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| My ex think I want it cause she enlarged in the breasts
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| Them niggas ain’t your peeps, they lie about love
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| They only call you when they need a ride to the club
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| I know why you be home mad at your chick
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| Cause she be at our shows, front row, grabbing our dicks
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| My parents I used to hear fuck, Lexis didn’t hear much
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| Little nigga, sat on books to get his haircuts
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| A few feet inches later, a entertainer
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| Home of the Nixon rangers sleeping with fitness trainers
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| Two-timing, so when I die then my royalties' divided by more wives than Frankie
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| Liming
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| Fans believe I’m alive on some island I’m hiding in high climates cliffdiving
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| I ain’t even done the yet
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| Chicks send me naked videos like Alanis Morissette
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| On the net your spouce be moving the mouse
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| Emailing when she be coming to get the shoes from my house
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| I’m out
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| Niggas wanna sex my dimes, rock my lines
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| Pass me the lie but I don’t get high
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| I rap for the cahs
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| I kill to the mass
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| Hear a screaming I’m broke then I’m rocking the cast
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| That your girl autographed, can’t maintain
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| Rap 'til I’m a poor man needing Rogane
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| Show no shame, be quick to diss ya
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| Cum in your girls mouth, then laugh when you kiss her
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| Adress me as Mr. Punchline the nigga
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| Put you on spot just like a game of twista
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| You the type to rock silver, lie that it’s platinum
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| Do a joint with Punch and fuck up while you rapping
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| If I die, rely on Wordsworth to clap 'em
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| Whether dmied or dueced you know that I tapped 'em
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| So call me Punchline, one of a kind
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| Soon to be one of the greatest rap niggas to shine |