| We in the Backwoodz Studioz twisting up buds and
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| We in the Backwoodz Studioz twisting up buds and
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| We in the Backwoodz Studioz twisting up buds and
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| Rappers with beauty pageants drop tapes like Bin Laden
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| Look at these rappers like beauty pageant drop tapes like Bin Laden
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| Drop tapes like Bin Laden, NSAs and attaches, let the cast hit play
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| Everything is politics, dirty tricks, military industrial cliques
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| Reveal the triple-six, guess what it’s all fixed
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| Like playing chess, blacks versus whites
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| Rich and poor undeclared wars, chickens come home to roost
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| Two dutches one loose, red handlings
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| Wild geese, cops off the leash, no peace
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| Them is the poems in the cemetery, molesters in the seminary
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| Babylon got weary, so my appearance very merry
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| Off the ships could bury, got a little house on the prairie
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| Smell the roses, pop the cherry, smash through the looking glass
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| Cheshire Cat off the hat, smack ‘em fast with a bottle of sour
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| Maps, flags at half mast, come through with air fast
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| Crush your supporting cast, high in the friendly skies
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| Tight guys crack wising, kevlar shooting
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| Take names like the court clerk, shots bust like stenography
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| Gunman’s in staccato, mulatto vatos playing straight shot lotto
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| Congrats, and todays grand prize, won a slave of the month
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| Gentlemen ready your blunts
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| We the Backwoodz Studioz twisting up buds and woods
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| From hoods where young ones snatching goods
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| And everyone acting fool, we just can’t live
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| Travel road, bruise blacks with blues
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| We’d rather ravage crews, instead of losing they clapping too
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| We been through it, for freestyle in cold winters on corners
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| Til mom flipping, sick of the warrants, have the cops
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| At your door, four in the morning, but I ain’t even at my mom’s
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| Crib, somewhere else waking up yawning, mind’s whirling
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| From last night got high as a, trying to get by with
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| Our little bit of bucks, living in the slums, but locked
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| In the belly of the beast, gotta hold yours
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| Like steady them beats, we humble
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| Wide heads had they cakes
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| Living in the belly of the beast, gotta
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| Hold yours like steady and release, we humble
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| Wild heads have they cake and eat, we got a gun
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| Just a piece and there ain’t no peace
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| Til they take away the murderers and brutalities
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| Of police, til then I’mma watch for the slow leak
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| And hold heat, forever rap this music for my soul’s peace
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| Hired on the western front, civil war
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| We gon' leave rappers with stumps
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| Your frown got fat like they clumps
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| Black might take your queen in two jumps
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| We did the hump, rival crew best prepare
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| For mechanized warfare, we do it in the trenches
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| Lieutenant corporal of the benches
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| Thinking it’s about weed and bare shits and giggles
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| We playing fiddles with smoke over Rome
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| Pull you from the throne, sic semper tyrannis
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| Rap madness, looking like Michael
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| Trying to be the baddest, shit just looked comical
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| Like a fat bitch with the monocle, my rap book
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| The chronicle, spliff geometry conical
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| Against the grain with Dutch strains tropical
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| If niggas only knew, I be more broke than you
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| Just smoke better, but fuck it I autograph with
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| That letter, to me it’s whatever, we can go
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| Paper-view at the Staple cener, Madison Square
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| Or the Gobi Desert, get your crew together
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| What you gon' need to be than just clever
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| All blues is is mo' better, sung through stormy weather |