| Yeah, Celph Titled, the motherfuckin' Rubix Cuban
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| Bout to, bout to set it on y’all. |
| Holdin' it down for Tampahiphop.com
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| TPA, 8−1-3, Hillsborough County and all that
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| That’s where the fuck I’m from. |
| And ain’t none other
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| You can catch me gangsta leanin' on palm trees and palm heat
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| That rips off your arm and make you get down on all threes
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| It’s Tampa Bay to the death, until I’m in Hell
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| And niggas can’t rock ice here, their chains melt
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| It’s gold teeth and bass beats and Cubans run this shit
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| We built Ybor in 1886 motherfuckers
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| Respect my district
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| Or the next cat that shops New York City in my town is gettin' bitch whipped
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| Cramtronix got my back and he ain’t gotta tell why
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| We speedin' up evolution, makin' shells fly
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| I’m at the house of hip hop
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| Cookin' rhymes in the kitchen
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| With Sandman cuttin' and scratchin' the dishes
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| Peace to every MC that’s reppin' 8−1-3
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| You can’t hate me, I put us on the map, basically
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| Sold wax all over the world from Asia to Euro
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| And everything I did was a product of Hillsborough
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| But I’m not the only one
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| There’s plenty more from where I came from
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| And my niggas gonna get they shine in due time
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| There ain’t no faggot shit here
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| We keep it filthy
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| And every time I brawl it’s just that motherfuckin' Tampa in me
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| What? |