| Cheeba cheeba, cheeba cheeba
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| I think it would be cheaper if I grow your cheeba
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| Hide your beeper, ride a zebra
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| I wonder why you glorify nine millimeters
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| If you shoot you eat it, you eat it, creep behind revolving doors
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| Wild on the floor involved in war
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| Or crawling on all fours… (gun control!)
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| Why would you pride yourself on being a luger-holder
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| When the only gun you’ve held is a supersoaker?
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| But I’m the killer finger without a millimeter
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| Look on your face look just like gorilla sphincter
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| When the NRA gave you the middle finger
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| Told you that you couldn’t join the gun club due to your ethnic background
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| Said you were born from the septic trash mound
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| So put the gun back down
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| You may think you’re tuff, bullet-proofed up
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| But the men that carry guns got mullets and crew cuts
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| White conservatives who form the oligarchy
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| Who’ll call you darky, and hate commies and Paul McCartney
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| They’re through nigga-shootin' at the general cinema
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| But the self image is a mental enema
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| Plus an exchange of gunfire
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| Is more likely to kill your man Busdriver
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| Oh! |
| goodbye cruel world
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| I’ll never see my children or stuff again («clack, clack»!)
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| Oh!, on a scale of one to ten, my life was… pretty good
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| I may be shot in any one of your city or hoods
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| Hey…
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| Bullets be ricocheting, bouncing off church bells
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| Fools be bailing, all you see is shirt tails
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| But me and my personnel… we got merch to sell
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| Besides violence in a public place don’t work well
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| And this is a pouring rain putting out those warring flames
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| The warning shots in the air hit angels, now I got blood in my storm drain
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| Sometimes I run over woodland creatures and they become road-kill
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| But still fans stood in the bleachers, and come to the 'Blowed' still
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| But you, your overkill…
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| You want to shoot at recordable cds like they were clay pigeons
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| I told you I was «babysitting» and you thought I came back from a gunfare
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| But I’m really into childcare
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| Ughh! |
| Goodbye cruel world
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| I’ll never see my children or my stuff again («Arghh!»)
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| On a scale of one to ten, my life was a 30 below with a chance of showers
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| But yet I had the man power to sit in front of a mic stand for hours |