| Smoky Lye, me got flav
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| Smoky Gunz, Cocoa B’s
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| Who wanna look like, wanna act like us
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| Wanna be like, roll the trees like us
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| Wanna talk like wanna walk like us
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| Wanna flip like get ripped like us
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| Wanna act like know you’re black like us
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| Wanna flip like kick shit like us
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| Wanna bust like you ain’t rough like us
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| Tek and Steele, Won on Won, Smoky Guns, what?
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| Ding! |
| That’s the sound of the bell
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| «Oh shit!» |
| is all you heard before you fell
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| To the canvas, all washed up like my dirty drawers
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| And pants get, try to challenge get damaged
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| Plain and simple, with bandages around your temple
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| Easily erased out the picture like pencil
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| Peeped me once, saw me again got your pistol
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| I put permanent fear in your heart like a dimple
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| Son hold my A.V. |
| let me rock this no-body
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| Comin out the closet tryin to stop my money?
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| Actin' like it’s sweet 'cause he ain’t see me in the streets
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| Spit that blood out and get back up on your feet
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| You called me I was there on some Candyman shit
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| Wear that ass out in front your kids and your bitch
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| Hurt you to the boards, put the ten to your jaw
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| Walk away, parley in front of Achmed’s store
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| We don’t give a WHAT about you, tell them niggas who sent you
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| Let 'em come, have 'em all open wide like dentals
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| Heard they work for cheap, think I might rent you
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| If you feel I disrespected you, good, I meant to
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| Nigga I’d wish you’d, talk about runnin' for guns
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| Get your Bankhead Bounce like insufficient funds
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| Left ass-out a home beggin' like bums
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| Cut off, swept off the floor like crumbs
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| I’m from N.Y.C.I.T.Y. |
| stay high
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| Lazy eye, ghetto celeb, rap guy from Bed-Stuy
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| Splash in two lines, me no long rhymes
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| Losin' your attention takin' up your time
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| I gets mine and breathe, 'bout it 'bout it like P
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| Too many wannabe me, wanna flow blow hold dough
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| Like Smoky (Smoky Lah), fly across seas
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| Blow shows for B.C.C. |
| (knock you out), but you can’t be
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| You heard me, you soft like porridge
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| You ain’t gettin' money and you have no courage
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| (Aiyyo son, let me at they ass son)
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| Introducing, the one who gets you bugged like a lucie
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| Same height, same weight, same fight skills like Bruce Lee
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| Try me, ready for those who wanna harm me
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| Don’t toy with me, you wanna be all you can be, join the Army
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| I swarm like bees, plus sting too, bring grooves
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| I blow 'em out like hankies (hachoo!) nab you like cops do
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| For the longest I’ve been waitin', to take it to these Jafaicans
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| Corner eyeballin' on the moves that we was makin'
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| Thinkin' that we lost it 'cause our line was closed
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| Can’t stop a hungry nigga with nuttin' to live foe
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| I’mma see that dough, many hustlers I know
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| Three car longshark white chalk and celo
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| Yo, I think I’ll take this time to remind you
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| Not to step out of line, test mine, CrimeStoppers won’t find you
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| Before we come kickin' your door to the floor
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| Throw you to the wall, makin' you our prisoner of war
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| Cut you too short to take walks with Tattoo
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| Attack you from your front open yo back with my scalpel
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| Snatch two, niggas from the crew if they got
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| Anything to do with motherfuckers coming back to avenge you
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| I intend to, get down for my temple
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| Keep a strong mental when dealin' with evils that men do
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| Them who, fail to comprehend I
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| Recommend you remember you’re dealin' with men who’ll
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| Send you — - off in a coffin
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| 'Cause far too often niggas are gettin' lost and it’s costin'
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| Body parts, from anybody that starts
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| We play the hackers, takin' rappers apart
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| Dissect 'em, from they rectum, to they necks
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| Double check them make sure shit’s correct then direct them
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| To the section, where the session’s, in progression
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| Where you come to get blessed by Smif-N-Wessun |