| When they kick out your front door
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| How you gonna come?
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| With your hands on your head
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| Or on the trigger of your gun?
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| I’m a killer off the top this is not a drill
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| Simply just a lot of skill
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| Keep it moving, never time to stop and chill
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| Pop a pill, down a drink
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| When your brain is out of sync
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| Study one of Ap’s raps, it’s teach you how to think
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| Perculate your brain waves
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| Circulate your blood flow
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| I am Titantic, you’re a bunch of little tug boats
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| But I never sink, navagate away from ice
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| Ap will find the most percise savage way to slay the mic
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| Cause I stay up late at night in the labratory
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| You could never out perform me
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| End of story, dopest in my category
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| Rappers wanna work with me?
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| Haha you probably can’t afford me
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| You are way too young and it would kinda feel like statutory
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| Acting corny, sweating me until there is no more sweat in me
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| And if I, drip dry, you would just think less of me
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| So
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| I keep my flow fluent, fluid flowing
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| This is not a fluke, you would puke trying to do the shit I’m doing
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| I could ruin rappers, chew and crap you out into the sewer
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| Ap’s mental like a Pentium, there ain’t a new computer faster
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| Take a second with it
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| I take a minute with it
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| Quit it cause you’ll never get it
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| It’ll stretch your little fitted
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| Blow your head apart, head to toe
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| Freeze ya like an eskimo
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| Write a suicide letter, sign it with an X and O
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| Sorry that I have no sentimental abilities
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| I’m just nuts so put me in the mental facility
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| When they kick out your front door
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| How you gonna come?
|
| With your hands on your head
|
| Or on the trigger of your gun?
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| When the law break in
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| How you gonna go?
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| Shot down on the pavement
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| Or waiting in death row?
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| You can crush us
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| You can bruise us
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| But you’ll have to answer to
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| Oh, the guns of Brooklyn
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| The money feels good
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| And your life, you like it well
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| But surely your time will come
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| As in heaven, as in hell |