| Sit back, close your eyes
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| Peep back, got you open wide
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| I’ll let you get a taste of me
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| It’s going down in history
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| Sit back, close your eyes
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| Peep back, got you open wide
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| I’ll let you get a taste of me
|
| It’s going down in history
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| Well it’s the microphone ripper, party-rockin Gift of Gab
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| I hit the scene, lift you on my beam
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| And send you through my high plains
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| Mind-train shiftin through your migraines
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| Spit with that I hit with patterns get you twisted sideways
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| And I’m the head honcho, sport golden tonsils
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| Inventin new styles all the time like Ronco!
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| Four by four, runnin over suckers like a Bronco
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| Haters say the lyrics ain’t Gonzo but they wrong though
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| We walking up and locking up the game and sparking up the flame
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| You’re not gone' be the same when our flow reach your brain
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| It’s 'bout to bust
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| Not your crush, show up at our show in a tacky dress
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| Hawking us, talking 'bout your prowess but we’re not impressed
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| Checkmate, populous crush, monstrous plush
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| Rhymes that just thrust onto your buck buck
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| Just rush
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| Just rushin' like the Nile River, power we deliver
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| See it’s (going down in history)
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| You know, I know, you know, I know
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| (It's going down in history)
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| (Lateef)
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| (Gift of Gab won’t you learn 'em and assure 'em)
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| (That the fire that you spit’ll burn 'em)
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| Burning up the track and turning up the action
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| (Murder one attack him)
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| Serving what you’re rapping
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| Urban gutter anthems
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| (Certain of the fact)
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| Curtains for the wack
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| Searching for the knack
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| (You're pervin' off the fatness)
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| Fury of the rather early mornings after
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| (Worldly like disasters)
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| Purely just the baddest, the Chief clamp down on 'em
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| (Like a vice on a melon squeezing tight on your temples)
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| Feel the bass (as the wind blows)
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| In your face (and your mental) hear the taste
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| Instrumentals even break down on you like this
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| (We surpass your previous standards) drastically
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| (Mastering bass), setting nights so bright
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| (Beneath the skylight)
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| And days (and weeks) and months (go by)
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| And years (and decades) and we still so fly
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| (While the others are just fly by night)
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| And not tight (we keep writing)
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| Like scribes (but we tight) and so wise (c'mon)
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| The rhyme historian exploring everything that we got
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| And even more so we exploring everything that they not
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| These are the glory days for lyricists, forever we plot
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| Wait wait wait wait hold on a second bring it back (we plot x 4, c’mon)
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| The rhyme historian exploring everything that we got
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| And even more so we exploring everything that they not
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| These are the glory days of lyricists, forever we plot
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| (It's going down in history) |