| Yo, yo, yo, yo the Sheep are back, black
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| On the attack that fattens your format
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| And suckers have to backtrack, regroup, resign
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| As me and mine recline in shade
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| Cause now we’re getting paid like crime
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| Krill, with the skill to kill while I’m on your will
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| Ill, with the feel for what’s real in my appeal
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| Why play me chummy if you really think I’m crummy
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| I caught your words and prep so long ago it isn’t funny
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| Now I’m ready to riot until the state is in gas
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| If I wanted to dis you I’d play your shit and laugh
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| Huh, first mistake, choice when we gave it
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| Now put your plea on a deposit slip and save it
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| Second was the mic checking that you couldn’t do
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| We step through just to get respect from your crew
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| Third, I heard you’re tense with the gat
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| All I got to say to that is, umm, it’s FAT
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| Be the fourth parallel to your ism
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| Know the diff of disrespect and criticism
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| Five, I plead the fifth, I’m just plain live
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| I won’t riff with the jive that the Sheep’ll take a dive
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| We’ve arrived just in time and you’ll discover
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| Only my mother, sister and son
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| Could come between me and my brother
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| Me and my brother, my brother and me
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| Don’t look on the surface cause if you do you’ll never see
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| Me and my brother, my brother and I
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| Cause you’ll fly sky-high when you try
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| Hey, yo
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| It took a long time although niggas thought we came out of the blue
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| A lot of punks slept but we always knew
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| That’s why you pursue the two-man crew
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| To do the motherfucking job that you know a boy can’t do
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| Like every aspect we cover: beats, rhymes and other
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| Nobody else down, yo, it’s just me and my brother
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| Sheeit, back when the shit began, before there was a fan
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| We had the skills so we ran with my man Stan
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| I had to pay my dues running with other crews
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| Black Sheep is here but bitch ass niggas still snooze
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| It doesn’t matter, Boo! | 
| I’ll make you scatter
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| Don’t flatter cause I don’t want your bitch nigga chit-chatter
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| I got stacks and stacks of fat tracks and wax
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| But you played yourself so don’t even ask
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| And I won’t remind you of the stupid shit you did and said
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| Out the side of your head when you were sleeping dead
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| And now I’m charging like a bull and you’re red
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| That’s why I’m pulling fucking files like a fed
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| Checking pros, doing shows wherever they goes
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| Getting hoes and foes but don’t sleep on those bros
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| Come legit, you need to quit with that ego shit
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| Because you’re only as large as your last hit
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| We intimidate, niggas try to retaliate
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| Go on, guess your fate, cause it’s your fucking guts I hate
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| I’ll put on my Tims and kick 'em
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| Grab my shank and brrrr, stick 'em, ha-haha, stick 'em
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| Bitch! | 
| Now the Sheep are rolling deep with One Love
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| Fuck around and be a victim of, who?
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| Baby pah, you’re best to learn that we yearned
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| And long earned, keep your concern, Black Sheep for the term
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| Forget status, we go for gold, who be creamy?
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| Cleaner no picture, clearly the victor, nigga, you seen me
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| With my man, no other mother could pull my brother
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| No way is it gay when I say we love one another
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| Uh huh, run for cover cause you’re coming on the block
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| We’re the best in the flock, was you born a fucking cock?!
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| Fuck your grade, our record play, man, it’s like Jordan
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| Rock it better than NASA or lock it tighter than the warden
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| Huh, according to some emcees, hating and to end all their jel
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| We selling now, fuck like 'Mister Wendal'
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| Bendable plates, expendable tapes we ain’t
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| Whitewash the Sheep when you’re wack, save your paint
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| No haps, chaps, you might as well shut your traps
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| The gap’s too big, dig, dapple over the maps
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| Doing curls with girls and blowing like Reg
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| Peep the slim slick, no Hammer, smack 'em sledge
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| Grammar, hot damn, I rip the rhythm up
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| And rock cuts like sluts with big butts do nuts for ducs
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| I split shit, you better see another
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| Down over a decade, this weight could never cover
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| Shucks, we hit fucks like nuts be touching Roscoe’s
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| Pick up the old school flavour like you’re name was Barro Pasco (???)
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| Asshole, my whole ass is all on me that’s booty
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| My job’s to clean up after my son cause that’s my duty
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| Why bug, g? | 
| Could it be that you can’t see
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| D, motherucker, D, motherfucker! | 
| D-
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| R-E-S, yes, with Lawnge since Sanford
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| Knowing we were destined to blow like Branford
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| Down for the duration, grand like Central Station
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| And a fat speaker says you got a demonstration from |