| My Nikes are real white, check one
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| My Nikes are real white, check two
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| I’m a bastard that’ll master ways to massacre the masses
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| Like a massive meteor that smash your cities into ashes
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| I’ll bash these lil' faggots 'til your face is facin backwards
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| Wait for you, I’m takin you to quiet places in the backwoods
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| Where a whole thuggers, sluggers waitin very patiently
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| They travel through the chamber of the banger very gracefully
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| And dance through your cranium, tangle with your brain stem
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| Salsa with your cerebellum, quickly rearrange them
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| Exit through your earholes, firin projectiles
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| My bullets are accumulatin frequent flyer miles
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| I’m Doe Rakin, cakin off multiple enterprisin businesses
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| With weight up in the rental keepin enterprisin business kid
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| Analyzin every possibility like physicists
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| My fist’ll fracture faces faster than pistols that spit at this
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| The proof’s when the album drop, crew on the alpha lot
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| But Ap up on the mic is like Zeus on the mountaintop
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| Lightning for a mic exploder, most them rappers' lifes are over
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| Fight provoker, wifey stroker, rare exotic Nike owner
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| Voodoo speaker, speaker blower, blow your momma, mind’ll blow ya
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| Brain it’s all the same if you take it back and rewind it over
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| Overtime, score tied, seconds are tickin
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| For recognition I be spittin 'til the records is skippin
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| Respect the clique and everything’ll be cool
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| Y’all better check if it’s cool
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| I’ll just eject the feul in your record pool
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| + (Apathy)
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| We some Doe Rakers, we some soul takers
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| But, all we tryin to do is get mo' paper
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| We some Doe Rakers, we some ho takers
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| Whole clique flow sick, ain’t no fakers
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| (My Nikes are real white, check one) You know?
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| (My Nikes are real white, check two) Geah!
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| (Check one, check two, check one-two) You know?
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| (Check one, check two, check one-two) Geah!
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| Yo, yo if you heard of Doe Rakers then you already know
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| I roll with a clique, that persists to flip that dough
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| See while you’re at school tryin to play that tic-tac-toe
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| I was with your lil' sis, findin how to hit that ho
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| Let me talk to all these niggas wanna get at Mo'
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| No warnin, your peeps mournin cause they miss you so
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| A clown nigga, lay down like six feet low
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| Cause y’all thought it was just a game when you spit that flow
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| No! |
| Not on a throne yet, but I’m a known threat
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| Plus I’m known for puttin somethin in pussies like Kotex
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| I’m on some CEO shit, yeah your man’s a boss
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| Kids sayin he’s a myth like Santa Claus
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| I got the, tools to provide with
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| Either you ride or collide with my clique or choose a side to hide with
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| Motive the live that’s paid my dues, won’t settle for shit
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| Nuttin to prove, none of these dudes on the level I spit
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| Shit’s funny, I’m 'bout money but a beast on tracks
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| So watch y’all mouth, when y’all speak on wax
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| Cause beef with Ap, nigga then them heats gon' clap
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| Believe the facts cause I’ll greet your whole, team with gats
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| Give a fuck, if you old school rap or new crews
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| They don’t spit sick, that’s shit! |
| You’re doo-doo
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| Fuck all the talk son, the actin is done
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| Come to your show, after you flow only thing clappin is guns
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| Yo, this the hot shit kid
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| It’s your boy Big Hoot
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| A.M.E., Demigodz
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| We controllin it right now
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| Apathy smackin motherfuckers up
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| And that Motive, bangin you out
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| Emilio, knockin you out
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| D.R. |
| nigga, what?
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| What nigga? |
| Fuck you bitch! |