| Aiyyo ??, I got the batter, get the mixer
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| As the trickster will fix ya a batch of rhymes
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| You know that soothes, like an elixir
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| And sticks your ribs so let the cheese and wine
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| Or rather wine and cheese
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| Cause I aim to please with ease hope the crowd sees
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| That I’m, the man that loves to flam
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| And when I step into a jam I just slam like Jordan
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| And this is the world, accordin to me
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| Rockin, heavenly hype and ?? |
| steadily
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| When I come in to rock’n’roll, I’m sure you will agree
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| That I got a hype type of style a family
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| But Diggy Doc gave it to Rob to rock and Howie Tee
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| Now, I’m talkin about Omega Psi Phi fraternity
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| Givin a little history
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| For some people, their lucky number’s 7
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| For Q-Dogs, it’s 1911
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| November 17th, underneath the ceilings
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| Behind the walls of Thirkield Hall
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| This is a family affair, rather a gathering of the brothers
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| United we stand, we’re not divided like the others
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| And when I mention the word divided, you know what I’m meaning
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| Show a brother something they don’t have they start fiending
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| First the ear-grabbin, then the back-stabbin
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| This from brothers that I call friends, I’m not havin
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| The other negative things in a friendship
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| An occasional whipser, gossip, a loose lip
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| I once trusted a brother with an eyeful
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| He told the next man, cause he’s livin trifle
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| But now I’m not worried cause I’m part of a family
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| United til death simply cause we choose to be
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| An occasional joke, a diss, or a crowd pleaser
|
| Callin your moms a ?? |
| look-a-like skeezer
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| Whoever wins the diss battle, respect is given
|
| Fightin over words is not how we are livin
|
| Then there’s ?? |
| word I almost forgot
|
| Three-on-one, no heat, but the rumor’s still hot
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| The bro’s get a ho that you know is totally widdit
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| There’s no need to be discrete cause you know she won’t admit it
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| When I think back on the memories
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| Just like these — is it a wonder that I love the 80's
|
| Well I’m Rob, a.k.a. as the Swinga
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| Comedic at times, and a stone-cold thriller
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| I got somethin to say I’ll make it short and sweet
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| Me I’m the Swinga I’ma swing it to this beat
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| Now I talk to a lot of people with the large vocabulary
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| Colloquial language I’ll use that’s secondary
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| And then there is slang and I would use that third
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| And I’ll say outrageous things that might sound absurd
|
| But — right back into my large vocabulary
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| I’m the type of guy that’ll always be primary
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| Never secondary, to any adversary
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| If they want to be like me, on the contrary
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| They try to compete, but I will always delete
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| I’ll leave them cryin from the agony, of defeat
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| And when they try to return to repeat
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| I make them hold on peace signs, say «Swinga I retreat»
|
| Well the Toad is immensely strong on the instrumental
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| The lyric can hit and shock the pure metal
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| Chubb Rock has a weak spot, creatin
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| An iron maiden cannot pierce my skin when I hit top 10
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| Run for shelter, cause you’re gonna fear this tune
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| More than you feared the age of Helter Skelter
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| Watch how we behave, Diggity Dog and Dave
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| The Roadrunner and Swinga always sayin that smegma
|
| Is the product of ten intense games of balls under balls
|
| I have Professor Paul’s
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| Kicking ability, the Snake’s agility
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| The ricochet speed of the Centipede
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| And the devilish mind of the Scorpion
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| The Lizard is unrealistic and simplistic
|
| And loitering is prohibit, the tune is illiterate
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| Diggy Doc no, Ed Lover forever my brothers in crime
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| They watch my back at the drop of a dime. |
| when we climb
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| And work and work hard and struggle to stay alive
|
| And strive, the Venoms, the Five — check this out.
|
| The Roadrunner
|
| Yo Chubbs can we make a little gravy and shit
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| Can we get ours, whassup man?
|
| Niggas is takin caravans all the way to North Carolina n shit
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| Whassup wit dat shit? |
| Niggas don’t respect my situation
|
| Yo can we make a little gravy chief, whassup? |