| Yeah, it’s redrum where I’m from
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| Come get some from the sick ones
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| Broke-ass millionaires and rich bums
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| It’s all a matter of how you put it all together
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| We the type that wear skullies in hundred-degree weather
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| And never sweat, nevertheless
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| Jealous eyes despise the A-X-E hanging around my neck, check
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| But we in this bitch and we be determined as fuck
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| Like fat kids that be chasing after the ice cream truck, what?
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| Now here’s one for all you emcees that wanna diss
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| Next time you think about hating remember this
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| I’m out on tour in yo cities getting sick
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| So the next time you kiss your bitch you might taste my dick!
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| I am the blood that inks your pen
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| I am the sickness that infects your rhymes as you spit them
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| So as you rappers scream my name out
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| I’m making your tongue turn black and fall outta your mouth
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| It’s redrum where I’m from
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| It’s Redrum where I’m from
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| Wicked 3−0-3
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| And we W-E-S-T-S-I-D-E
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| It’s Redrum where I’m from
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| Wicked 3−0-3
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| And we Don’t, And We Don’t, Don’t fuck with me!
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| It’s redrum capitol B-O-N-E-Z Dubb and he erupts
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| On you motherfuckers that think you got us beat
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| But you can’t see us, (what?!)
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| I be the type that gotta get that paper quick
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| And I ain’t afraid to put a red dot on your head
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| And drop a clip, talking shit
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| Stacks to watch ride off in yo griss
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| Grid lock when you get caught in that blood
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| And crip walk shit, biatch!
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| I’mma let this be the first time I admit
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| That if you come here you leave wit a pair of bloody open writsts!
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| Rest in Peace, no you could rest in piss
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| When I do this shit so sick you think my name was Brotha Lynch!
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| It ain’t shit, I’m the grinch that lives inside your bitch
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| And I rob that pussy blind with a nine in my fucking dick!
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| It’s the one that was slanging dope
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| Before your ass ever seen the block!
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| So I’mma set it off in yo head
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| And watch you mothafuckas stare at us
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| Ad just me mugg and talk
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| It’s redrum where I’m from
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| I make you throw up
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| They knowing that I’m tore up when I show up
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| With murder braids and shades that’s how I stay Juggalo’d up
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| Like shown us, deep running deep when I creep
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| From the 303 to the D I run with killas that never sleep
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| Rest In Peace listen to the Preacher when he preach
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| Wo when he preach, when he preach, see
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| Too bringing leaks see I’m the type lookin like 50 separate eyes
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| Out there telling my mind, you’ll never be on my side
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| So goodbye, click Clack, pulling it back
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| Not in reference to the Gat I’m speakin' about my tracks
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| Matter of fact, I’m thinking I oughta take my rap back
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| It’s AMB for Life and you can put that on my Axe Tat, BLAST! |