| You’re payin' me to guest appear?
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| That’s like handin' me five Gs to slice you from chest to ear
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| These veterans here spew sentiments of pain
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| After I shoot the gift my stage presence/presents will remain
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| Visions came to you after you picked my brain
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| If you got creative juices
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| Then I got the fruit from which they came
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| Think I’m heartless cause crews get slain
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| But of course I got a heart
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| What else could pump this steel through my veins
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| And C don’t aim to please
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| I aim to kill lame MCs
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| Point my slang at their brains and squeeze
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| You bring five fingers of death to cats?
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| I got one finger to bring you to death in four seconds flat
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| And you won’t last so don’t brag
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| You wanna go toe to toe?
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| I’m tryin' to go toe to toe tag
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| So when you hear that chirp sound
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| Spit my verse clown
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| That way you can make it 20 seconds through the first round
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| I stay strep throat from screamin' rated X quotes
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| Battled the whole Tunnel for doe
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| Players left broke
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| So the shit I’m on
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| You’re not remotely on that
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| And nobody’s fuckin' with my crew
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| Quote me on that
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| This is theme music so smoke your weed to it
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| And choke MCs to it
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| You know how we do it
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| And to the haters?
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| I know you feel me though
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| You hatin' on me but you hear me though
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| And to my people that’s evil
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| Drinkin' and drivin' illegal
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| Smokin' and high as an eagle
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| Bitches I’m tryin' to see you
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| But to the haters
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| I know you feel me though
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| You hatin' on me but you hear me though
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| It’s C Dub, chewed up in a rented Benz
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| I’d speed up but the tank is on E like Eminem
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| One blunt
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| The hoes hands right in my pants
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| Two blunts
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| And I’m on the opposite side of the road like I’m in France
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| I spit hate
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| Fuck that
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| For each mixtape I bless
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| Your record release date is pushed a month back
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| But we can spar sitting, drop 50 bars shittin'
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| The bathroom or the vocal booth, no large difference
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| I hit herb smoke
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| Spit to split nerves open
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| None of that shit you spit is worth quotin'
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| Each verse smokin'
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| 78, never fake
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| Leave you in the middle of nowhere like the letter «H»
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| Better get it straight
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| Before I straighten it myself
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| You a clone
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| I diss you, I’m hatin' on myself
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| Copy headed
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| Like take your slopped edit demo
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| Document it
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| Fuck you, fuck him
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| And tell 'em Copy said it
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| Get your soft crew
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| So I can clip them off too
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| My clique can not lose
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| Got sick shit to drop soon
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| You picked the wrong dude
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| Quick to cock tools
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| Start the beef at 5:58 and make the six o’clock news
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| I still battle
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| Dawg, ain’t no slaughterin' me
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| Besides, I don’t battle for nothin' short of a G
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| It’s sort of a change
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| A New World Order in my brain
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| Waiter, come here
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| I need a new girl, order some brain
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| The hottest shit
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| I creep low with a freak ho
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| Honest bitch I got a dick that a giraffe couldn’t deep throat
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| You weak though
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| You’re tired clique?
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| I put 'em six feet
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| You could empty an entire clip and couldn’t hit me
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| You miss me
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| What you gettin' done, spittin' dumb?
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| Usin' bitten shit to battle me
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| But forgot I’m the one you bit it from
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| Crunch time with the one ton mind wordsmith
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| 21 rhymes I didn’t hear one line worth shit
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| Fucks your purpose?
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| All your verses worthless
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| This is Mhz turf
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| Get off the Earth you worthless
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| Tell someone, what I’m spittin' is not flames?
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| And you’re dead wrong like B.I.G. |
| layin' in Pac’s grave
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| For every mill I pull I add a syllable to my flow
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| That means for now, I’m killin' 'em slow
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| Stay smashin' cats
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| I ain’t goin' nowhere
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| I’ll be here tomorrow
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| Day after tomorrow
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| And the day after that |