| I’m gettin the ahh, I’m gettin the ahh from the
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| Weak shit that I hear no lyrical styles come near
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| To the one who boasts like Buck
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| On the mic truck, cuz I never gave a fuck
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| I hate the weak shit, man it be fuckin with my soul
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| I peeped how radio be trying to take control
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| Tellin me to get a little lighter on my lyrics
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| But if it ain’t real on the mic I can’t feel it
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| Straight from my bloodstream, I pump finesse
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| Nevertheless, hold it in your chest like stress
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| Rhythm and blues style is not in my environment
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| And when I «slowww dowwwn» it’s time to take a hit
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| But until I fall off, call off your set
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| And if you never knew me, then you never knew wreck
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| Look inside of the mind and see
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| Cause you might be trapped with a nigga like me
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| I feel like I’m trapped in the motherfuckin cave
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| To the rhythm I’m a slave, lookin in my grave
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| Jugular vein bustin out my neck, you see the rage
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| I move when I groove cuz I’m into, the stage
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| Of the Buckshot, black, I’m bringin it back
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| To the roots, like Timberland boots, home on my rack
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| And I don’t give a FUCK what you say
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| Commercial rap, get the gun clap, day after day
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| Niggas don’t play on the d low, kid you know my steelo
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| I roll on more niggas than cee-lo
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| We might just bumrush your set
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| Me AND my niggas on the real mic check
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| Like my nigga Smif gettin swift on the gift
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| Then I toss another lesson to my nigga Wessun
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| And my nigga Five from the tribe of Moon
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| Pass the Crooked I, bitch yo pass the boom
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| Whenever you’re ready I’mma take you into the stage
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| Deep in the mind of a slave |