| I’m on my way to ASCAP so I can pick up my dough
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| I ran into a Jacker nigga tryna hit me with flows
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| He didn’t know I had a mind to just bloody his nose
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| And let the blood pour down on his white clothes
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| Chhhh.
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| Nigga! |
| You don’t wanna cipher with me
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| My name ain’t Pakman for nothin, I’m gobblin emcees
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| Chhhh.
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| Damn yo, I wasn’t even tryna take it there
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| Lemme hear somethin in the ear nigga, make it clear
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| He started goin on about pushin a big Benz
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| How he stayed jig, and smoked chronic up with his friends
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| He doin it big and got unlimited ends
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| I just met the nigga, I seen him walkin up with his mens
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| Stop frontin shorty, lemme tell you somethin 'bout the game
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| It’s a thin line, from being wack to spittin flames
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| You gotta represent when you be writin them lines
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| Don’t be a FUCKIN millionaire in every one of ya rhymes
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| I’mma let you walk in but yo you gotta be quick
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| I gotta go, and the shit you spittin nigga, better be slick
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| He started gettin busy, I was noddin my head
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| Then he fucked it all up and said some shit that I said
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| Stopped rhymin cuz he knew he shouldn’t have said that verse
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| Lookin stupid as fuck, for that nigga it was the worst
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| Yo, how you gonna bite and try to be top shelf
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| Better get ya act together, lemme hear somethin else
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| I give you more grievance than a nigga possessed by demons
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| Walkin on ceilings, chasin white lot speedin
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| Like Tony Soprano, takin meetings
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| With a psychologist about his emotional feelings
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| And his crime dealings
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| He even talked about how to make alcohol out of orange peelings
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| Pink cookies in a plastic bag gettin crushed by a buildin
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| Was cool until Canibus puked it
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| With ill cannibalistic, animal instincts
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| Instant lyrical fitness, could you handle the distance?
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| You don’t have enough wisdom
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| The man who gives quicksand resistance
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| Sinks the quickest, it’s simple physics
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| I get «Southernplayalistic» and pimp chicks
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| Put my big dick in they mouth and smear they lipstick
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| Come here you stank bitch!
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| Tell ya man if he don’t spit a hundred bars
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| I’mma bust him in his big lips
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| Spit quick, like 6B tip-tronic stick-shift
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| Bitch is equipped with a nitrous-oxide flipswitch
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| If you hate me, why would you recreate me
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| With those that imitate me and emulate me?
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| They talk about me so distastefully lately
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| But that never break me, they underestimate me
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| Me and the Killer P, and P-A-C get crazy with G-A-T's
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| I’m a B-E-A-S-T, you don’t wanna race me
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| I do Mach 1 over a A-F-B
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| No if’s, A-N-D's, or B-U-T's
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| A hundred bars ain’t SHIT for a true emcee
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| SHUT THE FUCK UP! |
| You should be ashamed of yourself
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| I ain’t heard nothin I felt, lemme hear somethin else |