| Mass distortion the amps are screaming
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| Pandemonium in the B-Boy Kingdom
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| Destroy and sting 'em venemous sharp tip
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| Feeling his pen strokes
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| For women and men folk
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| Ab’s recording for bastard orphans
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| All homes is broken life’s in your hands
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| Don’t let the moment stifle your plans
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| God bless the homeless no one supports them
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| Puffin' Alaskan or maybe some Oregon
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| Feel the wrath of Scorpion to your misfortune
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| Set the torches, my last one scorched 'em
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| Now they back for more of this natural order
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| 'Stract is sort of addictive on ya
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| Strong as a prescription for some pure ganja
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| Code of Honor and secret holdin'
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| From the oldest shamen to youngest, quote it in
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| Warriors, come out to play-ee-ay-ee-ay (Where my warriors at? Where my warriors
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| at?)
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| With swords and shields and guns and knives
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| With pens and pads turntables mics we’re
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| Warriors, come out to play-ee-ay-ee-ay (Where my warriors at? Where my warriors
|
| at?)
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| With chains and bats brass knuckles pipes
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| With rhymes I write that can shed some light on this
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| Mass confusion the spotlight beaming
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| Trip like illusions in colliseums
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| My contribution will fry their braincells
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| Blaze a tight rhyme now it’s time to raise hell
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| We come with the bomb and best cuts
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| And when the show’s over your hair is messed up like
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| Mass distortion grabbin' the porcelain
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| Drunk too much gin throw it back up nauseous
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| Cautious, do not drink too much nightly don’t know
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| When my last day here might be
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| Rights of passage, life’s a math test
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| Add up your successes and losses clashes
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| With arch-rivals, we tribal
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| My whole discography’s a Bible
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| Don’t bite your idols
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| Won’t play high-post
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| But when I sleep it’s only one eye closed, niggas |