| Rappers step to me like I’m a doormat
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| Check the format, I pour raps
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| Not your average everyday hardcore act actin'
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| I’m like a mac 10, a uzi and a AK-47
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| Rollin' with crazy kids like Bebe
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| Mayday mayday, I used to listen to KDAY in my heydays
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| I ride the bus with a dream of one day lampin' inside of a Mercedes
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| Benz with sheepskin interior
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| And two fifteens, and to rip means to get creamed
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| I’m large as a hippopotamus, trip, I gotta dis
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| Sip a bottomless cup of brew and I’m getting raw to this
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| If a rapper tries to step, I rip and slaughter his ass
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| Some shit, he oughta just swallow his pride and get to following this
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| I’m marvelous like Marvin Haggler in his prime
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| I carve kids like a dagger with my mind
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| I start shit with rappers who can’t rhyme
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| I spark spliffs cuz I don’t stagger when I’m high
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| But when I’m drunk I do, punk I do not acknowledge wackness
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| I gotcha grandma doin' backflips and tumbles
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| I rumble in the jungle with Ali and Frasier
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| Call me the savior of hip hop
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| I rip shop and get my propers
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| Come get with this ak, my style is akwards
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| I never mock words, I talk towards the inner city youth
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| Revealing it, the truth
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| I’m feeling that the proof is in the pudding
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| I put men that would end hip hop in my shop and I torture
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| Check out my lyric fathom
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| Check it brothers, really, check it out
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| (Gift Of Gab):
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| As I walk through the jungle with a knife on my ankle
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| Taking lives, skip will shank you lyrically
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| Apparently niggas wanna sleep still
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| Keep still, I’m packin' the a heap of skills
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| I’m rhyming to keep an ill mind, Saddam type shit
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| Your arm might get snapped like a twig
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| Rap like a nig-gero possessed thorough
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| The astonishing mission, dishing pain
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| Fishing in brains, plain lynching niggas bitchin'
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| So take a ride, I’d abide by my rules
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| Cuz fools I had duels with, I left them in the pool pit, I rule kids
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| I’m a kamikaze bomb, drop a nigga with an arsenal of drama in my rhymes
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| With the tracks and backs and heads is broken to pieces
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| Rapture’s phat, ya dead, ya croaked
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| I wrote this piece as just a little dedication
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| To the rappers on the other level
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| Budded out and looking into space, a new frontier
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| And I can probably bet cha that we got anything you want here
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| Cuz punk, we’re the crew that make you cheer
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| The two that make you fear and send you back to the rear
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| We’re here
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| (Gift Of Gab):
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| I flip and I rip shit, I’m whippin' a dipshit
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| With the lyrical form, I did kick it slick
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| I’m gifted, I’m ripping a nitwit to shreds
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| Get the Feds to arrest me for slaughtering emcees
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| That’s right, on my testicles
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| Come get a little array of the skill supreme
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| Wanna defeat me? |
| My nigga, you should kill the dream
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| The noise, the boys, the count, everybody
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| When I drop fat styles that ain’t your simple blahzay blah
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| Lodi Dodi average Joe Simpleton with a average flow
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| Have to go after you jugular
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| Then shit gets uglier
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| Man I hope you take heed
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| I’m making brain cells bleed an excess amount of hemoglobin
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| I rap, yes I’m out to see you bobbin' ya noggin'
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| I’ve been gobblin' niggas talkin' shit like Haagen-Dazs
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| Stompin' 'em, mobbin' with the ill ass skill as seen
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| On individuals who fiend for the real shit
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| Uh
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| There are 22 million blacks in this country
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| I only want one million to buy this record |