| Yeap, the diction is on point
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| Causin' friction when I flex up the jaw to hit the joint
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| That can actually give a blood mob like Gotti
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| Like the body cool, keep the strap up by the naughties
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| Niggie trippin' why you beam us, I don’t step up with no bullshit
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| See that there, it’s clip for this stickup on the hip
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| Peep the correct way to get your pimp on
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| Let me hit the bong, oh, and my mind’s quite strong
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| Wreck it nice and proper, if it’s on I’m finsta to stop her
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| If I’m swingin' for the knockout, best believe I’m fits to drop her
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| Ninety-five's on poppin', representin' I keep stompin'
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| Throw up my fists just like this when I’m mobbin'
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| I killed the last, killed the ass with my ninety-five drive
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| I’m deep like Denzel with my Crimson Tide, nigga
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| Like Chaka Khan, I tell you something good
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| I’m Hi-C like Spike Lee within tales from the hood
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| You need it, I’ll feed it, baby, check the size
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| Have you goin' down like Mary J. Blige
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| When it’s poppin' like this you can’t be a coward
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| Shorty freaks fuckin' beats like Adina Howard
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| My squad is hard with players and hustlers
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| No toleration, for fakers and busters
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| Fuckin' with me with all honesty
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| You get bombed rap songs comin' constantly
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| Bumpin' G-15's, Westside scene
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| Killin' the competition while making a fuckin' green
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| So ring, around the rosie and mosey to the Rosie
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| And I want you to know G
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| We bust and cuss and kick up dust
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| Don’t none of y’all niggaz want to fuck with us?
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| So what’s the time? |
| It’s time to get real
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| Why you bust your rhyme? |
| 'Cuz I got skills
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| We bust and cuss and kick up dust
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| Don’t none of y’all niggaz want to fuck with us?
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| So what’s the time? |
| It’s time to get real
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| Why you bust your rhyme? |
| 'Cuz that’s how I bail
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| Watch me, swallow this nickel and shit five pennies
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| I’m the loc’est of them all though the rat is kinda skinny
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| How many linny and squidgy think they can see me?
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| I’m from Compton where even in the summer niggaz wear beanies
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| Bustin' lyrics sharper than razor blades, catch it from head to toe
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| If you’re shocked, then amazed
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| When you see me at my stage show
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| For my stage show beat 'em up
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| 40 Thevz gettin' busy, rockin' coast to coast
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| Dogs the most rap, the hoes then rocks 'em up
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| Givin' it up for hip-hop victims how should I drop 'em and then pop 'em
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| For poppin' like to get what I got, and I ain’t got a whole lot of nuthin'
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| 'Cuz I been ruffin' and scuffin', so give it up when I’m bustin'
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| Or get to duckin' 'cuz I ain’t given 'em nuthin'
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| Fools can’t get none, so fuck 'em
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| Let me rock the motherfuckin' mic
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| Smoke a whole stick of dynamite, then fight all night
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| I got jabs like a welterweight champion
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| The pocket-pincher purse-snatcher pistol-packin'
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| Quick to get it crackin'
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| Went from jackin' to rappin' to runnin' with a pack of mad men
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| Pull a trick out my sleeve like Aladdin
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| Some fool tried to play me for a punk
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| I had to have him like lunch or dinner, he’s just a beginner
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| Fuckin' with a winner, number one contender top dog
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| Head nigga in charge runnin' with a group of hogs
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| 40 Thevz, MAAD Circle, Cat, and Crowbar
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| Best to put your daughter, wack ass rappers get tossed up
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| Trying to come in here with that garbage
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| My crew see the dopest and the hardest
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| So clear the path or get your punk ass bogarted
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| We bust and cuss and kick up dust
|
| Don’t none of y’all niggaz want to fuck with us?
|
| So what’s the time? |
| It’s time to get real
|
| Why you bust your rhyme? |
| 'Cuz I got skills
|
| We bust and cuss and kick up dust
|
| Don’t none of y’all niggaz want to fuck with us?
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| I peep game and get recognized
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| Buyin' all the hard liquor, toothpick and beedy-dyin'
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| Bitch, you got dealt, peeled your cap the other way
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| Like a reversible Louis-Vitton Gucci belt and ain’t nothin' crackin'
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| For them niggaz steppin' up with the funk, I’m packin' Tinactin
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| 'Cuz I be earnin' stripes in tight bunches
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| All the homies carry nines, I carry rhymes in sucker punches
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| What? |
| Tootsie, my knees don’t bend
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| Just like that actor Hoffman, I be dustin' off men often
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| Jaywalkin' over your coffin with an eleven shot loss
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| And John wrecked that Austin won’t soften
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| You’re lost and see arson, to exterminate the flyest nigga like Orkin |
| Stalkin' lofts men to New York and in between
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| So take caution, leave the flossin' for dental hygeine
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| Mental plus my gene equals nasty young bastard
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| The raps be lung mastered takin' vinyl’s virginity
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| Coincidentally I run shit like Walter Payton
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| Niggaz player hatin' 'cuz I spoke like a Dayton
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| I kick the bass like Ron Carter at the Carter
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| When C and B came strollin'
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| Blowin' niggaz up like when Mookie’s stupid ass got caught smokin'
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| Figure, your stigma is lack of enigma
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| So bitch-ass niggaz better step like the Delta Sigma Thetas
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| We don’t give a fuck, fools better duck
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| 39 deep in the back of Wino’s truck
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| Like robbin' in the paint, fool think I ain’t?
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| Your crew is on stank, that’s why I’m pullin' rank
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| I rev like a motor float on like a boat to kick a style
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| Like Tical from here to North Dakota
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| The ambassador of funk with amps in the trunk
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| And when it’s time to rock a mic I won’t be no punk
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| I bring death to the evil and power to the people
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| My name ain’t Steve Miller but I fly like an eagle
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| Don’t play me for a chump, I get around like Gump
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| And I got more con in my verse than Chuck
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| And you don’t want no motherfuckin' problems here
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| 'Cuz I can round up a posse like Paul Revere
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| Your whole crew’ll get took out, turned out, shook out
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| Burned up like a cookout, so fools better look out
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| Fresh out the penalty box
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| Sportin' a stockin' cap, cut off dickies
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| And some high-top striped socks
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| The freestyle fanatic psychosomatic back at it causin' static
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| With lyrics still as tight as a straight jacket
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| The last in line but one of the first to get wit' cha
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| Bringin' more terror to MC’s than a Michigan militia
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| Click, click boom, nigga fuck your crew
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| It’s the chanky hip-hopper, takin' over pissin' in your stage monitor
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| Socket you think that you can fuck with mine in your wildest dreams
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| You best to wake up and apologize
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| Niggaz penetentiary yearn me 'cuz I burn like Parker
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| But anyway, half of y’all couldn’t see me with a pair of Blu Blockers
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| The lyrical night stalker stalkin' at night in a pair of creased Khakis
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| Chuck Taylors, my pistol grip tight
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| Dub-C, that nigga from Westside mad circle
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| Ay man, ay ay, what’s up Wino?
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| Uh, like loc, it’s like late, let’s get the fuck up out of here
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| Are we out? |
| Yeah, yeah, fuck it
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| Fuck it, mad circle bitch |