| It’s that liquor carryin' libertarian with a fifth of whiskey
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| One sip is gonna make your nipples harrier
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| I kick the barrier, now my shit is scarier
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| If you don’t like a hit, dog, pistol whip a tarrier
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| And I’m aware of the other rappers that tear it up
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| But daring motherfuckers used to step into my area
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| And if you’re itchin' to make a stupid decision
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| Or wanna take it to dissin', my diction’ll take care of ya
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| And I bet I’m as bright as a head of lettuce is
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| But got it in my head that I’m ahead of my competitors
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| And I’ve been penning it ever since Sega Genesis
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| So you’re bound to benefit depending what your fetish is
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| Back with the fast rap just to get you cats stressing
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| That impressive, I should be giving a fucking rap lesson
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| And each bar attached with attack weapons
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| Grow another leg and quit your motherfucking half steppin'
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| Yo, our songs and our fans real
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| You belong in a landfill
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| Your career at a stand still
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| Nothing that we can’t kill, kings of the ant hill
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| You got nothing on my man’s skills
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| I’m so sick, I need some damn pills
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| I’ve been the man since «Stand Still»
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| Nothing that we can’t kill, kings of the ant hill
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| Hum-diggity drum, a hum-digga
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| When I was a young kid, they were calling me, «Dumb wigger!»
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| Now I’m back and bigger than some would figure
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| Hoping something cool happens, you’d think it would come quicker
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| I stay spitting like my tongue was a gunslinger
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| Punch lines thicker, mix 'em with a fifth of rum liquor
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| Your girl hungry and she want me to have fun with her
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| I could turn a nun to a sinner after one dinner
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| It’s a fit of rage every time I hit the stage
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| I’m the illest spitter that isn’t up on a Wiki page
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| Never spit the same, but I came to flip the game
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| Everything you bitches say is only gonna ricochet
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| Bitch, I wish you’d name someone badder
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| With the punchlines so big, they done rung Saturn
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| And the drums come fatter with the fung tung patterns
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| You ain’t going nowhere like a one rung ladder
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| Yo, our songs and our fans real
|
| You belong in a landfill
|
| Your career at a stand still
|
| Nothing that we can’t kill, kings of the ant hill
|
| You got nothing on my man’s skills
|
| I’m so sick, I need some damn pills
|
| I’ve been the man since «Stand Still»
|
| Nothing that we can’t kill, kings of the ant hill
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| My motivation’s humiliation, my reputation
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| Is decimation, the preservation of a generation
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| These declarations my occupation, inoculation
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| From desolation, my estimation is I’m fucking good at rapping
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| I put discussion on percussion
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| Been conductin' this production, the destruction of your section
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| Yeah, I’m still the best rapper in Maine and always have been
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| You sold ten copies and they’re all to your dad’s friends
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| You’re butter-soft, you’re powder puff, you’re featherweight
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| I’m Helter Skelter, I’ll melt your shelter, I never wait
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| I just medicate, levitate and educate
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| And I don’t gotta sample Michael McDonald to regulate
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| You see me captivate a cavalcade and commandeer the cabaret
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| The cavalry is screaming, «Don't stop!»
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| I started from the bottom, now I shart it when I jot it
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| I’m an artist and they bought it, you can find me on top
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| You’re an honorable mention from a comical direction
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| You’re a pussy and a dick like anatomical correction
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| Ask Ock Cousteau 'bout my nautical collection
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| When I brought new flows, the phonics so perplexin'
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| There’s nothing eerier, steerin' fear in your area
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| Mirror you mysterious lyricists, P period, Dank
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| Kings of the ant hill called «Maine rap»
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| You’d have to get Wu-Tang to move here to change that
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| Yo, our songs and our fans real
|
| You belong in a landfill
|
| Your career at a stand still
|
| Nothing that we can’t kill, kings of the ant hill
|
| You got nothing on my man’s skills
|
| I’m so sick, I need some damn pills
|
| I’ve been the man since «Stand Still»
|
| Nothing that we can’t kill, kings of the ant hill |