| You know what?
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| Huh?
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| You know what?
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| What?
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| You know what?
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| You know what?
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| The
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| That’s just a title, explaining who I be
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| Mista L-A-W-N-G-E
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| I take a sucker from any phil and injure thee
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| Now that I’ve spelled it out
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| And you like the way it sounds
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| I’m dissing rap music
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| And rap music on the grounds
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| You say I’m full of sheep
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| And for that I give a pound
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| The Sugar Dick Daddy
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| Mista Lawnge to break it down
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| Ladies, step to me for a real neat treat
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| And if you don’t wanna call me Lawnge
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| You can call me sweet meat
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| I wear protection, you won’t catch claps here
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| Come over later, but first go get a pap smear
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| Nine point five okay dear?
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| And don’t forget clean underwear
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| Cause I don’t want the funk to flow
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| And after I nut, yo ya gotta go
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| 'Don't you know ho, don-tcha know ho'
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| Okay enough is enough, time to get that off my bladder
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| And dig deep into subject matter
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| You know what?
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| You know what?
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| I’m sick and tired of rappers not real
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| And suckers makin' it with a pop feel
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| Labels signin acts for nuff bills
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| Tax write off, cause you have no skills
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| You go make a demo
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| Get a deal and start to sprout
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| Gold, platinum, and then start sellin out
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| You get a Benz and trash the Nova
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| Double platinum, and start crossin over
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| Then you get fall, I won’t give examples
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| HINT HINT, they use the same old samples
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| But not the Sheep
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| For we are sleek and unique
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| Top of the peak and others are weak
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| Follow the words I speak
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| The situation is bleak
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| But this is the fly shit that you seek
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| When the style is dope
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| Mista Lawnge’sa participator
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| If you wanna battle, later
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| Cause Black Sheep are certified greater than…
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| But, I said later man
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| 'I can dig it'
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| You know what?
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| You know what?
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| You know what?
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| You know what?
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| You know what?
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| You know what?
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| You know what?
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| You know what?
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| I turn on the radio
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| Be a prime time to a late night rap show
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| Here, the same old, same old
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| And that’s on your, new single
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| Your product, is a product, of no productivity
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| Can ya, see G?
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| You kick a whack style
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| And claim to have brains
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| Take the funky drummer and give him back to James
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| I’m dope, I’m dope
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| Heh, I can’t cope
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| Keep your cordless, because you bore this
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| You say you’re sure, yeah
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| But I’m the surest
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| That, Black Sheep are unique
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| Funky clever brothers that will
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| Make a church girl freak
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| Out, without a doubt
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| You have no wins in a '91 bout
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| So shout, pout, do what you want
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| But you’re out the picture
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| And I’mma get you sucka
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| Cause youse a dumb mothafucka
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| Better off as a tractor trail trucker
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| But movin right along to the Woodstock
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| Stop, remember when the band was on rock
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| Negro music, heh, separated
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| It blew up and became rap
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| And you hated it
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| That’s of course till you see
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| A motherfucker that, could be in your family
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| Drop lyrics then you hear it
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| With glee, then only thing it tells me
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| Is that you know a good thing
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| When you see it
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| You run to get a tan
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| Cause you cannot be it
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| So, off the top off my head
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| I guess I keep it rollin
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| Till aaaaaaah… the rap gets stolen
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| Like so many other things called theft
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| And when it’s gone what will be left
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| YOU sucker, dumb fucker don’t turn blue
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| You know what?
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| Talkin' to you
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| You know what?
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| Chump
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| You know what?
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| You know what?
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| You know What? |