| Seeing things from all sides
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| Like a dice between my thumb and my first finger I set spinning
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| Now I satiated my appetite and the thirst lingers
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| Rap lines about ubiq I’ll recoil with the cursed finger
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| Take a dip
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| My mind is an ocean I search tankers
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| Finding the boats that sank 'cause their chained to the earth, anchored
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| Replacing destroyed papers, bases and artifacts
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| Retracing mistakes I made to the places they started at
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| Self-educator healthily raping the almanac
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| With nothing but rhymes written, my face is a college stack
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| My brain’s ready for steak and I’m brazen to swallow fat
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| My time I gained from classes escaped from my common past
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| I let it go like something I love
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| True to the blue my memory is not once what it was
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| You can bet I give the credit to the blunts and the drugs
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| All of that said and you can still find me up at the clubs like what the fuck,
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| right?
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| Ain’t nothing funny you dick
|
| After you go without a show for a couple of months
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| Looking back and now you know that’s a slump in your run
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| Working forty hour jobs and eating lunch on the bus like you be who?
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| And I slide up on the scene outkast like hootie-hoo
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| And nobody gives me dap and I bounce in a shitty mood
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| So I smoke weed, I ain’t shaggy from Scooby doo
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| Just cause you can see me usually happy and moody too
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| Instead of acting crappy it’s back to the studio
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| With nothing to hold me up
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| Mi no más con mi novia
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| Where’s the beat throw it up, I pen it won’t play around
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| Treat it like an old dog when it’s dying and lay it down
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| Don’t tell 'em where I’m going
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| No, watch what you’re saying now
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| Stop biting in the styles I’m developing in the open
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| Just because it gets recorded in press
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| Don’t mean it’s born from your breath
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| I can’t afford to accept it
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| This is your warning from CES
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| Rappers bore me to death, perhaps adore me you wretch
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| You floor’s filthy my laboratory is swept
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| And if ever it should pass that I benefit from your loss
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| Then you’d better get your ass from this place or its getting tossed up 'cause
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| I don’t know what you thought but
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| It’s not tough to lock someone in a room and get 'em chopped up
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| And people say «yo, CES why you talk stuff?»
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| We talk shit 'cause you walk in with your Glock cous
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| I don’t know what you thoughtbut
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| It’s not tough to lock someone in a room and get 'em chopped up
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| (Chopped up)
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| And people say «yo, CES why you talk stuff?»
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| We talk stuff 'cause they walk in their Glock in their hand
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| I wake at the break of day and write to the crack of dawn
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| Passion to splash the page peer pressure I pack it on
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| Pure professional
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| And I made plans, you plan to wait
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| There’s no escaping debates who’s looking for candidates
|
| Don’t bother looking further just look at this handsome face
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| Sixty-seven mistakes in the session your man is eight
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| 9 out of 10 rappers wear rings with 50 carrats
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| While the scream about the gun and make noise like Dickiy Barrett
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| Dirge is a dirty cheat
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| Dean is a shifty baron
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| Roger Kent in a Honda element with tipsy blaring a twelve
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| Gimmie a chair, shell, bars, pen, paper and cell
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| Give me no love? |
| Well the fuck it I’m gon' make it myself
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| Generate Joy, pain, poison and flame
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| Be men and defend your friends and go join them in pain
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| Seems every ploy is the same
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| Probably and what’s the point?
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| Smelling a sack of cess we be doing the double joints
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| Or a single malt scotch and a shake with triple thickness
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| These chumps will fuck around so we came on official business
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| Diss for your diggy-dawg and a dick for your little missus
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| Our efficient skills spit and grill, drift with the real sickness you dick
|
| Ubiquitous on a mission I’m 5'7"in height
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| Your biggest fish imma bait 'em with line get 'em to bite
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| Handcuff 'em and tied, read him his rights
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| You pennywise dead in the lights
|
| Ripping so many mics on the daily
|
| Your money is petty and ready for anybody
|
| Arms steady up in a V Like come and get me you bitch
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| As for shows, any less than 150 ain’t really enough to bust
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| So I guess you ain’t gonna get so I spit
|
| I don’t know what y’all thought but
|
| It’s not tough to lock someone in a room and get 'em chopped up
|
| And people always say «CES why you talk stuff?»
|
| We talk stuff 'cause they walk in with their Glock cous
|
| I don’t know what you thought but
|
| It’s not tough to lock someone in a room and get 'em chopped up
|
| (Chopped up)
|
| And people always say «CES why you talk stuff?»
|
| We talk stuff 'cause they walk in their Glock in their hand |