| I’ll make you motherfuckers break out like soda and grease
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| Devoted to speech and how it flows over the beats
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| We’re rollin' deep holdin' heat like the code of the streets
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| Reloadin' my piece while faggot rappers go to police
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| Yo I use more force than even Yoda can teach
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| Try to counter my opponents but the total decreased
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| Flows released until every last foe is deceased
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| Build a throne from the bones of the bogus and weak
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| So if you ever pickup a mic to beef or to diss
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| You’ll cease to exist before the metal reaches your lips
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| The reason is this: picture gettin' Jesus to spit
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| Multiply by six and you’ll get me when I flip
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| Walk exotic beaches with bitches who fiend for the dick
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| They get exotic, freaky, and vicious, and eager to lick
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| Let my foes roll deep, bring toast to the beef
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| Fuck bullets, I could catch lightening bolts in my teeth
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| It’s Apathy, the baddest rapper with the mentality
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| That’s as savage as survivors of a nuclear disaster
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| Aftermath’s as massive as asteroid crashes
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| Frontin' like your bad when half your boys passive
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| I pass that six-way shit, play slick
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| I’ll be up inside your nose on some switchblade shit
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| Writing (?) style motherfuckers better be listening
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| I start spittin' and leave your brain like Jessica Simpson
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| Fresh in the flesh, now-a-days I’m better at pimpin'
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| Gettin' every single chicken, tryin' every single position
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| I’m top seated
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| Burn your stomach lining like there’s crack rocks in your pocket and
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| You see the cops heated
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| Cannot be defeated
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| It’s not an option I treat it like it’s pussy, get it poppin' anytime
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| That I need it
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| If a bitch ain’t wifey and she like me or I beat it
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| Then she’s likely to describe me as being slightly conceited
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| The type to type your number in my phone and then delete it
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| Leave it alone, if you ain’t givin' me dome then I don’t need it
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| I got kinky hoes in skimpy clothes
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| With brain powers that could crack Da Vinci codes |