| Hah! |
| The former back of the classroom talk-trasher
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| Blastin off at ya without help from NASA, has ta
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| Blow a nigga’s chest up like asthma
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| With raptures and fresh ass raps from wack bastards
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| West district politickin like Gibson
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| Make a pick-up, and then escapes from New York like Snakeplitzkin
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| With trees tied to the thighs of down shorties clearing Customs
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| Ready to cuss and bust on any nigga fuckin with production
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| (This ain’t my bag)
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| Back in the Bricks tricks and kids dig the music as we dooz it
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| (God damn yo!)
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| And lose it, when we play niggas the new shit
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| (That's that shit!)
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| Cross this T, watch me dot your eye
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| Stay on your P’s and Q’s, niggas I’ve mastered my high
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| And when the snake bites and hype blinds your eyesight
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| At last, the Artifacts, will bug and have the last laugh
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| We’re comin through all studio sessions
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| Bringin 40 motherfuckers, pissin all over your conference tables
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| Like this right here
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| Rhyme style criminal, with the lyrical missile
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| Wack niggas the issue bless, catchin wreck, to your chest
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| Rock even Budapest, who the best, on the spot
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| Blitzin niggas wicked from the cornerback, slot for props
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| MC’s pop, but run up close into my strategy
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| Task be, easily complete major catastrophe
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| I be the rhymin holocaust, with the sauce to toss
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| Those who fakin jacks in rappin know they fallin off
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| Is it the way we lay the forte, display my caliber
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| Slayin my challengers, used to be a dancer, now a flow, balancer
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| Manufacture raptures, dip into my tricks
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| Pullin out treats, and singles comin by the hits
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| Shit done by Vic, units for the nine-six
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| MC El the Sen, with Da Way Like This
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| We kickin over your crossaints
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| Smackin your secretary up and kickin up that fuckin computer
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| We snatchin all the paper from fax machines
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| And we stoppin distribution on your next release, HUH?
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| What makes you think that we can’t start beef in a heartbeat
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| Like car thiefs with snatchers
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| Givin rappers hot flashes for actions of our main access
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| Knockin out you half-rockin-my-jocks on your asses, like Cassius
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| But cautious, these dope rhymes’ll leave you nauseous
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| (Still niggas sleep but umm, we still got the)
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| Picture perfect workin, expert that hurts it
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| Anyone with the verse, that shit gets bursted
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| Exploit the time, simplify tracks, I rap
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| For brothers on the block and those who buy me off the rack
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| Attack foes who slip up off the earth
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| Jot down the plot as this MC, gets into that ass
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| The bass thickens, while crews face their whippin
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| Always on the low but, you’ll never see me slippin |