| For every pair of lines I spit
|
| I leave you paralyzed and bent so clear a path
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| If you not parallel to my paragraphs
|
| Apparently if they say I’m better than you
|
| There’s no reason for me to put myself on the pedestal
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| Movin' forward ahead of you
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| Like you ridin' a bike
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| And you can’t move till' the pedals do
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| Nobody teams compare
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| Bold niggas fallin' so fast
|
| They need to pull the strings on a parachute
|
| So stop the comparisons and get buried up under American soil
|
| We can start with the letter U, S
|
| Food for thought, thought for fools
|
| Where niggas will take a life for the jewels and a pair of shoes
|
| The hood is out for dollar signs
|
| We trade the heaven skies for a slice of the devil’s pie
|
| Try to make it my downfall but see all I know is the tour
|
| Audiences applause for the curtain calls
|
| All the best now is spittin' the truth, Why?
|
| You’s a let down like convertible roofs, I
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| See the mic and murder the booth, nah
|
| Killin' shit precise like a snipe that’s on top of the roof, ha
|
| «You, you, you love my style cause I’m not what ya used to»
|
| «Caught in the matrix»
|
| «It's out of hand, how the man gotcha»
|
| «You're in my Dangerfield like Rodney»
|
| Four finger ring rap, sling slang, Pharaohe the flow’s good
|
| You couldn’t hang if you was Ving Rhames in Rosewood
|
| Couldn’t string together some shows
|
| If hoes would sing together a song for you
|
| And then you came when the doughs good
|
| I’m Billy Joel, I really soul
|
| Might dust off some red vinyl that’s really old
|
| Or chop drums
|
| On a roll while I’m shotgun
|
| With a wireless MPC 4000 I got one
|
| I bomb crews, I’m hot
|
| I’m cool, the Top Gun, but not
|
| The Fonz or Tom Cruise, I got
|
| A pool of lyrical warn shots that you shouldn’t respond to
|
| Like pant legs around the ankles of hipsters
|
| I’m tight
|
| Paintin' a more visual picture than Pixar
|
| Get more, skull than Skeletor or rip fuel
|
| While y’all bite like parasites and pitbulls
|
| «You, you, you love my style cause I’m not what ya used to»
|
| «Caught in the matrix»
|
| «It's out of hand, how the man gotcha»
|
| «You're in my Dangerfield like Rodney»
|
| It goes punch, shoot, stab, kill
|
| Smoke this, sniff that, nigga pass the pills
|
| Niggas rap about daffodils
|
| Tree hugger
|
| That’s when the gat clap ya grill
|
| P mug ya
|
| My defense is offense
|
| Offense is nonsense
|
| Drunk with a kufi on
|
| Praying to Allah bent
|
| Clark Kent with the glasses off
|
| Power fuckin' Lois Lane cause her ass is soft
|
| Crip tonight/kryptonite, but I’m a blood today
|
| Latin King tomorrow keep it caliente
|
| I send Spanish niggas to visit your label
|
| Rep for mi gente and take your digital cable
|
| The God hard body
|
| Y’all ain’t physically able
|
| To test me
|
| I’m Jet Li
|
| This whipping is fatal
|
| Blast skets
|
| Y’all niggas is past sex
|
| Acting like a boss get lost, what up Hex?
|
| «You, you, you love my style cause I’m not what ya used to»
|
| «Caught in the matrix»
|
| «It's out of hand, how the man gotcha»
|
| «You're in my Dangerfield like Rodney» |