| The Beat Brothers
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| Guilty
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| This shit got that feel
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| Uh, look, reject back from the trenches
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| Back with the MAC with extensions
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| Thinkin' 'bout when they had me layin' on my back in intensive
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| Clapped in my head and neck
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| That shit was inches from hittin' my carotid
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| I would’ve bled to death and nobody could stop it
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| Doctor said the bullet too close to my voice box to try to get it out it
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| «You can’t touch it and I doubt there’s anything we can do about it»
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| Bells Palsy from damage to my nerves
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| No feeling in my legs, I took a bullet in the head, nigga
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| That’s why I chuckle at the commnts that I read
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| About the way my face look, and shit, I could’v been dead
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| Just focus on the lyrics, don’t focus on my appearance
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| Bro, you too pussy to go through it, so you fear it
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| You see the way they quotin' this shit hysterically
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| What you see is the dopest of any era, Machine
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| Bump a line of this coke you see on the mirror
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| Sniff, nigga, this shit is a gift, nigga
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| King of the underground, but still, I’m a rich nigga
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| A few years ago, I was just on my dick, nigga
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| Moral of my story, I ain’t switch up my pitch, nigga
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| Stayin' true to myself and take whatever I get, nigga
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| A lot of niggas rappin', they don’t spit it like this, nigga
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| Rollie on my wrist, leave the pot like this, nigga, whip, nigga
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| Name your top five, I might be better
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| After this album, bet a critic can’t slight me ever
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| No pen, no pad when I write these lyrics
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| I just recite off the top, that shit hype me better
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| Played with bricks since the fitted cap and white tee era
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| Ask Benny, ask West, had semis, had TECs, nigga
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| No kizzy, we was really at necks, nigga
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| Really bled with me, then he really got stretched, nigga
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| Machine |