| Man, I'm told your rap barely shines and it's too dry
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| Since now it's street and ticket
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| No, stop shouting I'm just starting
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| I said, hey, I was going to forget
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| Who's the motherfucker that swore on his bitch mother that we were fucked
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| Loot the bins here's the hurricane, keep your eyes on Villier
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| A return to the BDP era and Daddy Kane, big American beat
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| On my LP I focus on the kind trip unity and peace on the sound at Wax
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| Slam the SP to the max nigga, push the level
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| Respect to the old school, to the new suspects
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| Call me crazy if you like it pig
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| The first round in 98 is a few drops, your ass still remembers it
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| Listen to your body, shake it when I shoot
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| Middle, left, right, back
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| We wanna see all your hands up
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| Drop that, and don't give a fuck what you look like
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| Don't give a fuck where you are as long as the beat bewitches you
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| POISON. |
| it's my rage that I bleed, on this record or on stage
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| On the beat or on the stage, if you like this sound, shout it, chain it
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| P.O.I.S.O.N at the next kill, it's the same tandem
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| Don't look for the third, Arsenik, it's Calbo and L.I.N.O
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| P.O.I.S.O.N., that's what you like, we do it again, mic phenomena
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| Rob the star system, P.O.I.S.O.N., leave nobody unscathed
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| Write that down, I'm stalking the crowd and bringing it to the top
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| Man, roll with P.O.I.S.O.N
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| XXX
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| They ask me if with a double gold, I'm still credible
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| Like the devil swearing on the bible
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| I got the fucking target tattooed on my back
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| With the bad out I dribble and put the ball between the homies
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| No, I'm not letting go, it's too early, if you let your guard down, you're dead
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| Life is the Lotto, it's gore so we call ourselves Ghetto stars
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| We cry out our pain, frown on the fucking pictures |