| One two three we gon’turn it out
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| And make you rock to the beat and then scream and shout
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| We gonna hit you with the shit we got here
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| We gonna blow your miiiinnnd (blow your miiiinnnd)
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| Keep it movin like this, keep it movin like that
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| If I die, I’ma only come back
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| Yo, I’m saying if you think that you can step to me wrong
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| Don’t even waste your tiiiimmme (waste your tiiiimmme)
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| Chorus Two:
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| You niggaz talk shit then abandon ship
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| Niggaz talk shit then they abandon ship
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| Niggaz talk shit, then they abandon ship
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| Niggaz talk shit then they abandon ship
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| Verse One: Rampage the Last Boy Scout, Busta Rhymes
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| I 8Off like the Assassin, now I’m blastin I’m takin over
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| Stick you for your blue Range Rover
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| I told ya, Rampage a real live soldier
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| Been in the game, sinc the age of thirteen
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| A microphone fiend, so I’m goin to see my P.O.
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| It’s August the 1st, so I guess I’m a Leo
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| My P.O., look like Vanessa Del Rio
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| She pulled my rap sheet, just like, Neo Geo
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| Hahahaaa! |
| I always roam through the forest
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| Just like a brontosaurus, born in the month of May
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| so my sign is Taurus, kick you in your face
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| like my fuckin name was Chuck Norris, make you sing my chorus
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| Rock to the beat and then, turn into a walrus
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| You remain nameless, my victory remains flawless
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| Acting like you wild, but I know you really harmless
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| While your time is coming, I make the fat shit regardless
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| Many niggaz wanna know when the Ramp return
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| Yo I’m gettin phone calls from that nigga Howard Stern
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| He wants to know about my Flip Mode click
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| The way we get down and BUST NIGGAZ SHIT
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| LP after LP, we make G’s
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| I run up in your ganks den take you for your keys
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| I’m not lying or joking, you get broken
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| Dead in Flatbush, back to Roanoake and…
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| People always askin me, how your shit be sellin
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| For makin shit guaranteed to bust your fuckin melon
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| Police throwed me up on charges like I was a felon
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| There was no tellin, when I was strikin had you swellin
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| Cruisin in my Lands, watch the police how they be gellin
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| Lock you up for days and got a nigga ass smellin
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| Yo FUCK THAT! |
| You best believe there ain’t no time for dwellin
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| If you ain’t makin noise you need to kill the fuckin yellin
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| Chorus One
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| Chorus Two
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| Verse Two: Rampage, Busta
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| Yo, yo, yo I run up in your set like a New York city…
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| I can’t slip, I beat you down with my vice grip
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| Your lost, that means you way off course
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| No remorse, I’m gettin five in The Source
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| I be saddleback biting motherfuckers like a horse
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| Turn and toss, niggaz all up in my applesauce
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| Watch me reinforce, my shit feel good like intercourse
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| Ever since I was a shorty rockin Hugo Boss
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| Aiyyo bust it Bust (why) you just made my day
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| If you didn’t put me on I’d be locked like O.J.
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| Now I’m writin rhymes hittin shorties everyday
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| In the full runnin drinkin ice Tanqueray
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| I don’t eat pork I take a fish fellet
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| Now I’m knockin out niggaz from. |
| to. |
| touche!
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| Now I’m goin back around the way
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| I’m rippin shit, like my name was Marvin Gaye
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| Yo, now I’m back with more Bionic like my name was Colt Seavers
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| Got you niggaz open like a bunch of wide receivers
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| Time is on the meter, go clean your act up in the cleaners
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| Chickenhead, give me some of your chicken fajitas
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| Yo I beg your pardon, I write my rhymes way past the margins
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| Squeeze the Charmin, peace to one million men marchin
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| When you talk shit you really don’t know what you startin
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| Now your shit is done like a fuckin empty milk carton
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| It’s on for the nine-six, mad shows at the Ritz
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| Now we got you open like Fixx
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| Stickin to your stomach like Quaker Oat Grits
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| Fisherman hat with my brand new kicks
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| On the low, I still rock my Girbauds
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| See the show, I got my nickel plated fo'-fo'
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| All my rough niggaz open the do'
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| Cause Boy Scout brings the ruckus and I’m still hardco'
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| Yo, when I walk streets you know my blade’s a little sharper
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| Fuck Peter Parker, I cross you like a magic marker
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| Everytime I hit I always hit a little harder
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| Blazing to the point where niggaz look a little darker
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| Catching suntans from my music, fans understand
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| Making fat shit, I always love to lend a helping hand
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| Organized rhyme unit like the Poison Clan
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| While your ride is busted, I be your luxury Sedan
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| Number one nigga in the chain of command
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| Breakin fool in school like my nigga Geechie Dan
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| Aiyyyyyo, I see intruders on my scan
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| Singin at your funeral like Bobby Bluebland
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| Chorus One |