| Aiyyo spark up the phillies and pass the stout
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| Making quick money grip before your ass is out
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| In a street brawl, I strike men quicker than lightnin
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| You seen what happened in my last fight friend? |
| Aight then
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| L’s a clever threat, a lyricist who never sweat
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| Comparing yourself to me is like a Benz to a chevrolette
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| And clown rappers I’m bound to slay
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| I’m saying hi to all the cuties from around the way
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| Yeah, cause I got all of them sprung Jack
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| My girls are like boomer-rangs
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| No matter how far I throw them, they come back
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| I’m coming straight out the N.Y.C.
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| I’m down with diggin in the crates
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| And I’m M.V.P. |
| yeah!
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| If rap was a game I’ll be M.V.P.
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| The most valuable poet on the M.I.C.
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| Yo it’s a must that I get papes
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| Peace to all the DJ’s who gave me love on they mix tapes
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| And once again the man’s back with a drenged track
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| So here’s your chance jack to get loose and let your hands clap
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| I got juice like boco, mad crews I broke through
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| niggas be getting mad cause I hit more chicks than they spoke to And everytime I’m in a jam I always find a loophole
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| I got a crime record longer than Manute Bol
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| And my raps is unbelievable like aliens and flying saucers
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| No more iron horses cause I’m buying Porsches
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| I’m coming straight out the NYC peace to the Kid Carpi, I’m M.V.P.
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| Battles I lose none I make crews run
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| I get fools done, got ten fingers but only use one
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| My run is like Machine Gun Kelly, with a black skully
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| Put one in your belly, leave you smelly, then take your Pelle Pelle
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| I’m the neighborhood lampor, punani vamper, mess around you’ll find
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| My silkboxers in your mommy’s hamper
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| And nowadays girls want you for your money
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| I’m like Hev, I got nothing but love for you honey
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| And yes I’m living slick and my pockets are thick
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| I need surgery to get chicks removed from my (chill)
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| I’m coming straight out the N.Y.C., raps my J.O.B., and I’m M.V.P. |