| Visions of bodies bein', visions of bodies bein' burned
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| Visions of bodies bein', visions of bodies bein' burned
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| But I ain’t goin' out, but I ain’t goin' out without a fight
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| But I ain’t goin' out without a fight
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| I grab a motherfuckin' whale by the tail fin
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| Throw it through the sky, hit a jet make it tailspin
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| Spit straight lava my mouth is a volcano
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| Crush solid rock in my palm like soft Play-Doh
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| Travel on tours on the back of a torpedo
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| Inside of a tornado, you better inform NATO
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| Gold chains, gold crown, hoes who love to go down
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| Turn your city block into a ghost town
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| Real spooky, full of crack addicts with no goals
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| Well I’m the Grim Reaper pullin' souls through nose holes
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| Y’all are feminine as phones that are rose gold
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| Your flows old, already expired and grows mold
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| I’m so cold I could freeze boilin' water
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| Boy you oughta deploy a harder track
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| 'Cause I destroy the softer rappers
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| Swear they trappin' but never ever seen coke
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| That’s why you catch a contact just walkin' through weed smoke
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| Fire starter, pyrotechnical technician
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| You better listen or they’ll find you with your head missin'
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| Certified Pharaoh, find me at Fahrenheit’s
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| Hot enough to disinfect the mic from all you parasites
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| One verse is hot as the Sun’s surface
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| Hot as a gun burst is, burnin' ya epidermis
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| In my high school superlatives, said I’m the most murderous
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| Convertin' this verse into a furnace and start burnin' this
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| Visions of bodies bein', visions of bodies bein' burned
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| Visions of bodies bein', visions of bodies bein' burned
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| But I ain’t goin' out, but I ain’t goin' out without a fight
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| But I ain’t goin' out without a fight
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| Fallin' out the sky hit the ground and the earth shakes
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| I shouldn’t even be on this planet in the first place
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| The son of a god, Krypton is my birthplace
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| I murder in chronological order by birthdays
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| 'Til every sucker rapper’s extinct, I happen to think
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| Souls of my foes get trapped in my ink
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| Write flows with the ghosts of the recently deceased
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| Sound waves I compose are the frequency of the beast
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| Six hundred and sixty six megahertz a verse
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| Tour bus is a hearse, and every show’s at a church
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| I deliver the last rites every time I smash mics
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| Doctor Frankenstein diggin' with flashlights
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| To suture and stitch, I’m a computer that spits
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| I’m from the future and we don’t listen to Future you bitch
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| Terminator metamorphin' to liquid metal, a wicked devil
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| Rippin' several rappers to shreds on a different level
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| The most high exalted, suckers’ll get assaulted
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| Catapulted off the ground and their body is somersaulted
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| The sum of all summers, I summon power to alter
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| My physical form and channel the souls of the greatest authors
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| I’m Hiawatha, hot as a fire walker
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| Emergin' from underwater in a fuckin' flyin' saucer
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| (At night I can’t sleep) I think too deep
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| So I strike up a match and throw gas on the sheep
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| Visions of bodies bein', visions of bodies bein' burned
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| Visions of bodies bein', visions of bodies bein' burned
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| But I ain’t goin' out, but I ain’t goin' out without a fight
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| But I ain’t goin' out, out without a fight
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| Burned, burned, burned, bein' burned, burn
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| «Burn you fucker, burn!» |