| You ain’t a behavioural scientist, why you dying to spit?
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| You try too hard when you rhyming with Bis, try again
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| Approve this for public release, fuck with the beast
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| with bucked teeth bust your guns or get rushed in the streets
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| Handcuffed to the back of the jeep, blindfolded
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| You hear a foreign language they speak, you do not know it
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| Kidnapped ___________________ sand dunes
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| To a dark room to witness your doom
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| Bash you in the face with the mag
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| Rope around your neck over a tree branch, hoist you up with three sandbags
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| You shit yourself, your pants sag
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| Global broadcast, man that’s sad, they lynched him in the lab
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| Twenty four apprentices for hardcore fellowship
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| Twenty four masters, twenty four lyricists
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| Dead to the world, alive to the hearts that are pure
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| If you endure your mind’s open doors
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| Complete the last step without crossing my rep
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| Who’s next? |
| What possessed you to jump off a cliff?
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| I spit dark, once you stop the Hip Hop Juggernaut
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| Kill you bloodclot, you stink like jungle rot
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| Me I’m a _____ but she don’t do ganj
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| Show too kind, the prototype of the first proto rhyme
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| With combined payloads my glide bombs provide flows
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| That cause World War II death tolls at live shows
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| Independently targeted
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| Bombing shit from so high up in the atmosphere you lose consciousness
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| No oxygen, only Canibus anti-oxidants
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| Think about it, why spit into a bottomless pit?
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| I’m so isolated lyrically, they put me in a desert facility
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| To test my abilities, check out my melodies
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| Designed by Pratt & Whitney, rap so swiftly
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| TAW-50 following me 'cause you’re with me
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| Your high bars are lukewarm, let me school y’all
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| Intravenously cold blooded cooling coils are running through my jaws
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| The Sun’s hot, I’m warmer, the metaphor explorer
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| I give a order: You can’t cross the border!
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| We ain’t religions, don’t talk about the Torah
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| We crucify you on a cross for a quarter
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| Welcome to my House of Slaughter, signing on the roster
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| Go downstairs, put your stuff in the locker
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| And come back, let me see what you got, son
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| I dropped him, rappers stepping to me, I ain’t the one
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| Spontaneous nucleonic you the opposite, be honest
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| You produce reduced knowledge, your discography is dishonest
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| Both promise, change your name to MC Silence
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| Yes, your album inspired me. |
| No, I didn’t by it
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| Talk back, nigga get fired
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| I’ll erase your verse off the track so fast you’ll wake up tired
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| Candles go out, darkness infiltrate the house
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| What the fuck he talking about? |
| He got a mental case mouth
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| I forced him to his knees, told him to face south
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| Empty your PayPal bank account before I blow your brains out
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| Untouchable since the day I came out
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| That’s why these wack niggas keep calling my name out
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| How the fuck they gonna change that now?
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| How they sound? |
| I’ma put him in the ground, Lyrical Law style
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| How you liked at me then, how you like me now
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| How you like me in the future when I’m wearing that crown
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| The crown is invisible, you don’t have to be a loud individual
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| You act like Hip Hop is all you listen to
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| If that’s true, this is for you
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| Then I’ma keep ripping you, 'cause that’s what Canibus do
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| If that’s true, this is for you
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| And I’ma keep ripping you, 'cause that’s what Canibus do |