| Yeah, we’re gonna swing this one to the right
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| Wanna give a shout to my man Pos K
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| My man Big Daddy Scoob
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| Now Rule Mob
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| Check it out
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| Well, honey, here’s a hickie, Puba’s not a quickie
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| When it comes to skins, God damn, I’m picky
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| Who will be the princess to occupy the prince?
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| And if she’s less than dope, I hope the limo’s got tints
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| Now, honey, you see, this may sound profound
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| But LET ME LOVE YOU DOWN
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| And if I’m Uptown, I’m back downtown
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| All the skins I’ve been in, I gets no frowns
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| You see, doo-doo MC’s really think they can outlast…
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| I smell gas
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| As a yung’un I was thefty, born as a lefty
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| The rhymes I drop, somethin' more than hefty
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| Roll like a Ranger, Puba’s no stranger
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| For those who try to diss me — uh-oh, danger!
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| Used to drink the Olde E, cool as Jeff Spicoli
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| When I play soccer with the dreads, I play goalie
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| Here steps the one that’s capable of slaughterin'
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| For those who wanna bite, get the catalogue, start orderin'
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| 'Cause — Puba’s shit is on stock, Akh
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| I shape the wig like a woodblock
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| I like to dip, dip, dive, a Benz I’m soon to drive
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| I guess you can call this my nine-to-five
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| I send my lust to scoop skins with my skin buster
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| Freak the mind and butt behind and I gots the Georgia
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| But hang on for a sec!
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| You don’t have to worry about the Puba gettin' wreck
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| 'Cause to me, see, it’s more than likely
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| And if I flow too fast, let me slow down slightly
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| Let’s take a trip expenses paid money grip
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| Don’t flake or flam, 'cause Puba’s not HAVIN' IT
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| Derek X to the right
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| C’mon and clap your hands for Zulu Nation
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| C’mon and clap your hands for Zulu
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| C’mon and clap your hands for Zulu Nation
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| C’mon and clap your hands for Zulu
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| You see me rock a video and slam shit up on Feels So Good
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| There was no doubt about it, 'cause I knew that I would
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| Before I kick these lyrics that I riff and I roll with
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| This girl done tried to cram
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| 'Cause she was down with the OLD SCHOOL
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| She. |
| smacked me, attacked me, harassed me til I swung
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| But I made her see stars 'cause her bell rung
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| (See, an Uptown girl is much different than a downtown girl!)
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| No. I’m. |
| not a wife beater
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| No. I’m. |
| not a girl cheater
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| I nipped this problem in the butt
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| With my force from the Rule and my man Ron. |
| Stud.
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| (Word to life!)
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| So give a shout if you know what I’m talkin' about
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| And if you don’t, then brother, you’re lost
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| I had a Ross, traded it in for a horse
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| It died, I made glue, it’s no loss
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| I’m the boss at my job 'cause I hire all workers
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| Tired of the sob story tear jerkers
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| Compassion, for fashion never seen in our slums
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| Never sold work, never handled no jumb’s
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| So que sera sera as the fat lady sings
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| But when the bell toll is the song I sing
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| Taken up the flights, whether Uptown or Crown Heights
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| I pound a bunch of you after lunch 'cause I do right
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| Appear from the rear with my Clan, and I’m the Cave Bear
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| Rip up the street on my worldwide tear
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| So loudly my troops, and let’s form three groups
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| Wreck time is here, so let’s get paid on free loops
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| Allah Jamar to the right
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| Peace God! |
| (Yo knowledge the God) Peace God!
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| You’re captivated by the science 'cause the lesson’s mathematical
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| Jamar rockin' the jam, is an emphatical
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| Y, equal, Knowledge Born
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| I go on, although clothes get torn
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| By Weaker Cypher men. |
| 'cause what came from my pen
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| Made 'em lust, now I must
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| Rush out the back door, in-to the alley
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| Girls in pursuit, enough to form a rally
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| I didn’t wanna scuff up my brand new Bally’s
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| So I made a quick dip, like I was goin back to Cali
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| Took the Lear jet, don’t fear yet
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| Comin on your earset!
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| So as I hit program, you know I’m gonna slam
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| Cause even in my name there’s a funky live «Jam»
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| Don’t eat Spam or no types of ham
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| Polite to all women so I say, «Yes ma’am!»
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| Sniffin a gram ain’t flam, it’s kinda weak
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| Jamar I keep you open through the rhymes I speak
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| Not down with a frat, no I ain’t no Greek
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| _A Message From a Blackman_ is what you seek! |