| «Lyrical Commission»
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| «Turntable and I, tear shit up»
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| «Celph Titled»
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| «Settle the score»
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| «All out war»
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| (Verse 1: Trem)
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| This is all out war with a fallout sure to cause a backlash
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| I’ll bash in your fucking face, I don’t stab backs
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| Trends attacking rappers with a thirst for blood
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| Submerge your body in a river shoved in a Persian rug
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| Eternal come for curtains, that’s a certainty
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| Leaving third degree burns from these first degree murder sprees
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| Earning me and my verse and these words global praise
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| I throw grenades when I flow and set the show ablaze
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| A fire bug for hire shrugging a cop off
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| Plug in the micro bomb, soft cunts to compost
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| We from a long lost planet where rap is real
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| Still intact and untapped by the mass appeal
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| Market, LC spark and blast targets
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| Master the craft and kick it raw like a carcass
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| Lyrical Commission’s carving a path with rotor blades
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| We roll deeper in the streets than a motorcade
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| (Verse 2: brad strut)
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| I’m barely breathing, bleeding, heart rate increasing
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| It’s fire stakes, I can’t take fakes and thieves
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| And past mistakes seep in through the gaps of my armour
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| Ain’t nothing what it seems as I battle with snake charmers
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| Paint you a portrait, I got a sword, just not cautious, do what I want
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| My squads forces hard to handle like a grenade on detonation
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| Rock the candles, a parade of devastation
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| Defend the nation while I step inside your earlobes
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| And carve you split of slick spits and I don’t fear no man
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| You need heroes, all I want is beer, blow some weed and type speech
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| Some beats and reap zero, disrespect, I hinder reps with heavy burden
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| Get in your head, and leave you left for dead, they’re calling curtains
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| This shit’s superb in your Car or Walkman, go stalking an important
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| Public figure’s son is a slick assassinator, four fours caught in an elixir
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| Sworn to fascinate you with scorn joining the mix, it’s life and death
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| In this business, it’s kind of sad, but I define my track with death scriptures
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| (Verse 3: Celph Titled)
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| There ain’t a motherfucker been in more fights than me
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| O.G.'s in my hood ain’t got more stripes than me
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| Celph Titled is known to tote but when I ain’t packing
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| I keep a buck 150 nigga, we can get it cracking
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| And if I throw slugs you better pray they graze your chin
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| You said you had an infrared but that was just a laser pen
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| Just the sight of me will make you strain to breathe
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| I shoot till I’m satisfied, I aim to please
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| And you ain’t got more ammo than me
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| With clips there’s no contender
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| In my house we keep gun oil in a liquid soap dispensers
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| You shouldn’t let your mouth flap
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| Cause I’mma put you down under and I ain’t talking 'bout The Outback
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| In New York I’m grungy
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| In Australia I’m Dundee
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| Cooking barbecue with just the smoke from my gun heat
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| Niggas get comfy with a pillow in they face
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| The Demigodz and Commission filling body bags by the case
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| (Verse 4: Bob Balans)
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| The world leaves the forgotten to lurk in the waste
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| That’s why I don’t trust, I hurdle through space
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| With a thrust and peril is safe from the payback
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| Cause where I stay you fight for a placemat
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| And I don’t say cat, cause where I grew up that meant faggot
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| But I do leaves tracks po’wed and flattered
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| Staked in habit, daggered, when I unsheathe the mic from the scabbard
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| And uphold the standard cause your fates borrowed
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| So check the horrid scars on your face and forehead
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| In hostile territory like foreign embassy
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| LC start a war, now we’re the common enemy
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| Execute you to a tight schedule
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| Get the general, the rest are expendable
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| Melt ya, every decibel held ya in a molten tank
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| Until it’s over your scalp and there’s nothing left for burial
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| Your aluminum in the smolder stay crushed, the heavy fuel
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| Expels the metal shells in your shoulder
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| Arial assault leave you pumped like a propeller |