| I got these rappers scatterin' like shatterin'
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| Your nose bones and splatterin'
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| Blood in front of a hypochondriac with rare African forms
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| Of an airborne pathogen passin' through a sneeze
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| While I’m smashin' through MCs to bring the masses to their knees
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| I passed all my degrees and handcrafted a masterpiece
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| Now I’m after that mac-n-cheese to make money like Maccabees
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| Imagine all these maggots like magnets attractin' G’s
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| Swear that swag is homemade when they studyin' Apathy’s
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| They pacin' back and forth on the stage like they half deceased
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| Or they speakin' in Japanese or they stuck on a bag of trees
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| Or they fuck up lyrics and freeze… suckers are so predictable
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| I miss when it was dope to be original
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| I’m so heartbroken I part the ocean like Moses to escape
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| But they threw up the bat signal so I’m goin' to get my cape
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| I’m gettin' my old tapes and all them heavy ass crates
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| Scrutinizin' all my mistakes, I’ll do whatever it takes
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| Rise and shine, write a rhyme
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| And think about all of them rappers that I wanna kill
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| Rise and shine, write a rhyme
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| Another day, another night, another dollar bill
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| Rise and shine, write a rhyme
|
| And think about all of them rappers that I wanna kill
|
| Rise and shine, write a rhyme
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| Another day, another night
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| I sit and stare at the disproportionate portrait of portions that rappers speak
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| upon
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| That sneak up on Ponzis that prompt me to palm, my speakers drawn
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| Fond of lyricism, subject matter with substance gathered close
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| I tend to douse 'em with both
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| Instead of facetious songs that bottom feed methodically
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| Like Constantine tricked us by mixin' Paganism with modern Christian theology
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| God to me is probably somethin' you never seen, let it ring
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| My lyrics come to life like that rabbit crafted from Velveteen
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| My self-esteem was punctured, lungs drippin' in acetone
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| My Ex told me, «Stop feelin' sorry, get off your ass, you’re grown»
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| These other rappers suck dick, in fact it’s known
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| Cheeks inflated like them jazz musicians blowin' the saxophone
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| That cast a stone? |
| You plastic clones adapt poems
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| Like diggin' for fossil fuels extracted out of Jurassic bones
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| You excavated a style that I encoded
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| Spittin' rhymes back to me like I wasn’t the one who wrote it, motherfucker
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| Rise and shine, write a rhyme
|
| And think about all of them rappers that I wanna kill
|
| Rise and shine, write a rhyme
|
| Another day, another night, another dollar bill
|
| Rise and shine, write a rhyme
|
| And think about all of them rappers that I wanna kill
|
| Rise and shine, write a rhyme
|
| Another day, another night, another dollar bill |