| Time for some action
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| Yeah, but you don’t hear me though
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| Come on, here we go
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| We put it down everywhere we go
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| So motherfucker come on cause its
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| Here’s a toast to the fact that I’m a man and I can stand alone;
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| And all my suits are made by hand in Rome
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| Ricotta stuff the cannellon'
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| I’m in the garden smoking roses;
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| Deliver like Malone, I’m talkin' Moses
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| Part the ocean, spark the potion, diamonds in the rough
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| We shine 'em up, make a necklace, dive up in the muff
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| Then wash my dick, straight to breakfast, hop up in the truck
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| Got more flavor than some Dr. Pepper, hottest stepping struts!
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| And the streets paved with concrete
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| I’m known to smoke the same shit that makes the lawn green
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| Gaze at the moon right off the shore, dream—
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| But me no worry got a strong team
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| Just like my Knick’s '94 team—we winnin' though!
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| Go 80 layers on the Baklava
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| That’s hand made by my nana, peace to Antigona
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| The whole shkup, Bill Clinton Boulevard
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| Since a youth Bronsolini known to put it on
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| Already mentioned with the people I respect up in the rap shit
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| Couple of months you probably see me with an actress
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| Getting my ass licked, while she driving never crashed it
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| Smoking on that shit, fantastic
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| A little breezy off the coast as the sun set
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| Gallop on beach on the horse cause we young vets
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| Limited edition, signature inscription
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| Certificate of authenticity, I’m on a mission
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| Queens representative, dismember your genitals
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| Now you got a pussy, fuckin with the general
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| Bas Rutten, I’m ass bootin', I’m past shootin'
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| Display fast movements, know that cash rules
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| Drug clothes and I ain’t talking 'bout a bento box
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| Penetrate your mind, spice it with the mental lox
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| Fundamental Soundgarden verbal Black Hole
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| Son at the flicks getting sucked in the back row
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| Lungs filled, smokey like the pork shoulder
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| Lash out, one second in the fourth quarter
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| Triple penetrate, pussy meat I renovate
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| Fuck 'em like a dog and leave 'em twisted like my mental state
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| Off the deep end, snorkel in a river
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| I take it back to Walkman’s and tape decks
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| In Great Neck, having great sex
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| I didn’t even have a hair on my face yet!
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| My feet were always classic though
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| Pinky up, classy flow
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| If you know me, you know never to pass me blow
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| Straight shitting on these songs so the grass can grow
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| 'Til we sitting in the garden, smoking
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| Listening to Marvin go
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| I treat the shit just like a title fight, you sparring
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| Sooner dip Ferrari, sexin models straight from Holland
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| Lamb encrusted fennel pollen
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| When I rhyme it’s like the metal hollow
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| These other motherfuckers smell of flowers
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| Sissy |