| I’m the warrior chief
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| I’m the merciless God of anyone that disturbs me in my universe
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| Fuck with me and you will suffer my wrath
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| It’s assassination day, so the devil now prays
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| That the bombs from this God don’t sound no alarms
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| Now y’all stay calm, let me move like Rahmadan
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| Speak one word then you’re gone, drop like Hiroshimo bombs
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| Creation of this playing made by 36 Chambers
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| It’s death by wishes and mad niggas is getting headaches
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| I’ma warn you, this shit here is about to get pathetic
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| And there’s fucking boys getting shipped out by FedEx, If I said it
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| Then it’s best that you protect your fucking head, kid
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| I re-design your chromosomes and make that shit my fucking home
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| Get out my war zone! |
| and I’ll leave you hit down all alone
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| I attack, that Killa Bee’s chopping with an axe
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| Fuck, it’s dangerous in this game to bust
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| In holes, while triffels gain your trust
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| Representing Brooklyn from the Hook on
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| No question, we keep the truck on
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| Hoes, now get your fuck on
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| Now you’re suck on some shit, we bust a nut on
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| All you niggas waiting for this bitch, just hold on
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| Desert eagles busting at seagels flying the coup
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| I see you’re face dipped in the plate, eating my soup
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| Now you’re on a negative vibe, then rob me
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| Brooklyn Zu, we float through like foreign currency
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| Sixteen kings, international
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| Going against the odds and the curse
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| A universal traveller verse
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| The first to peep this right or wrong turf
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| Trapped in the Earth’s atmosphere
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| Knowing the wisdom and the knowledge, things is never clear
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| A hundred and eighty degree angle, straight line, bridge
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| Naked asylum, strangle this kid
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| That man move got rocked away far like hemmy’s
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| Vision slightly off, they keeping one with the froth
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| Learning pussy, john protection, court minister, three six zeros
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| Spillin treble, a bow and arrow in hands of a crossed-eye Indian (Indian, Indian)
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| Like Jeff Domer and his barrel of dicks, I shred cliques
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| Crews, camps, clams, shit, the Iron Fist
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| Infiltrator of Shaolin, but Manchurian
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| Learned secrets in divine pamplets
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| Manuals numerous with horrendous skills
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| Intentional calculated kills from the hills
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| When Zu Street had nightmares, Manchuz came on through
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| Assassin’s interior, humble exterior
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| You’re getting warrier, stagering from the javelin
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| Rhymes get ate, like Pharoah Gram’s, see eight
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| Motivate, Manchuz cleaned the plate
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| Went back for seconds, turned MC’s to reverends
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| Ricans, Born Again Christians
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| Believing in mysteries and their histories
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| Nimble and swift like cheaters
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| We be crumbling divisions with murderous intentions
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| It’s the number one rap creator forcing rhymes to make your mind boggle
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| Guzzling MC’s like a bottle of OE, Drunken, pass me another cup
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| Round them up, mad jam, bust some rhymes and make them duck
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| Too late, watch your fucking aisle, I’m Mike Tyson
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| When I’m slicing, rhymes are accurate and precise then
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| Hitting straight to the point, I don’t smoke joints
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| I only drink and puff blunts, so my niggas appointed me
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| Malik, the Drunken Dragon, I’ll burn your ass if you’re lyrics are sagging
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| Cuz your rhymes are shitty, y’all move quick and niggas say did-he
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| Do what I think he just did, that kid is witty
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| I don’t need a welcome commitee, I just appear when I intend to
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| Roast an MC cuz that’s an my agenda, sure contender, wack MC offender
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| Drop your draws, Manchuz’ll get up in you
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| The click got crime with it, rolled back like I cracked a jackel
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| Breaking ankles, gang tackle
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| Most wanted like Tickle Me Elmo last Christmas
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| Today seems the perfect day to test my sword play
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| Planned it, before I did it, then I shitted
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| Lovely like Jada Pinkett naked in Jason’s Lyrics
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| Bank on it, got my monkey wrench and my shank on it
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| Give me a beat like this and I get stank on it
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| Players is getting older, the older’s getting younger
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| The Gods is getting wiser, crackheads getting bolder
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| I wouldn’t tell you nothing to hurt you, unless I don’t like you
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| One way or another Zu gon' get you
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| I keep the toast in the harness
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| About to stick some foreigners
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| Run your garment, cuz I hear my stomach calling
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| It’s a predicament, I’m falling |
| But you don’t see me crawling
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| Cuz I’ma get this loot if it kills me
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| I’ll lock your shit down like a master lock
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| Rolling with a master flock
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| Brooklyn Zu, those the warriors
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| No claiming colors, but strictly claiming hawk of fame
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| I’m leaving niggas we the stain on their brain
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| Street life, we roll dice and rock diamonds
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| Cuz we shining as we bubble on this gold mine
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| And sip fine wines with all my kinds
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| Crazy cuffies, crazy cuffies
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| You niggas bring your ruffy ruffy
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| Rhymes is falling like a bag of illy
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| Niggas dealing with the real, come hear me
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| Duel, I must stalk for the murder behind this shit
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| War lies in the bloody pill like alligators
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| Perpetrators got laced, War written on his face
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| Nigga lost his place and his concentration in his place
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| Clip full for too long leaks it empty
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| Reload, shots at the sky, boo you watch a mole
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| This original Manchu, technical assassin
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| Gun, ax, whipper, we bounce of your block with satisfaction
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| Destroy your anatomy aggressively
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| Killing niggas was meant be be
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| Not logically, but self-explanatory
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| Your man died in a blaze of glory
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| Sword slash cut your bodies (Bodies, what) |