| On the night of the last rap that I write
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| MC’s all over will bless the mic
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| Point two double Glocks in the air
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| Some cats gon' die in they barber’s chair
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| Real rap take to be made of gold
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| Hot little ho’s y’all keep em cold
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| Everywhere, check it out, it’ll be cool
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| All dope deals will even go smooth
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| On the night of the last rap that I write
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| The Devil and God gon' have a fight
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| Check it, head to head
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| Tiga, toe to toe
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| Try’na figure out where I’mma go
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| All non-smokers gon' blaze the weed
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| Butterflies will turn back to centipedes
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| From pennies, yeah tiga
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| To a gang of g’s
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| And all my homies go from oz’s to ki’s
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| On the night of the last rap that I write
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| Mike Tyson gon' have his greatest fight
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| Knock the little trick out with a left and a right
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| Stevie Wonder even gon' regain his sight
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| On the night of my last rap
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| Africa’s gon' be run by blacks
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| And no where 'round will there be crack
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| Jamaica’s gon' get Bob Marley’s back
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| And all my tigas gon' bust they guns
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| And no where 'round where the police come
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| And check this out
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| I’mma kick it with Khan
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| Muhammad Ali will be pronounced as god
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| Won’t be one killin' in the projects
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| Muslim’s will all cry from Malcom-X
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| You will finally get respect
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| Dis I know, I never guessed
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| On the night of the last rap that I write
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| I’ll be married with a wife
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| She’ll be the special love of my life
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| But check this out muthafucka, not tonight
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| Life, of a desperado
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| Kick it like soccer, that’s my motto
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| Like a bullet in your gun
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| My heart stay hollow
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| Somethin' to like but not to follow
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| Yo! |