| I warm it up like Kane in his prime
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| Fuck with us, you insane in the mind
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| You cowards way out of line
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| Money talk, boy you wastin' my time
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| You don’t want to put the work in
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| You just want a taste of the shine
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| Real talk, so it’s hard to trust
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| I’m in it for the long ride, like I drive a charter bus
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| Scars and blood, from the deadly bars I bust
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| In Czar we trust, the army buy they bombs off us
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| Blog about it naysayer, you can hardly doubt it
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| Who’s the best? |
| Who’s the worst? |
| We could argue hours
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| Runnin' through soldier field, I’m Jordan Howard
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| Nowadays they respect money more than power
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| Money, power, respect, we all want some
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| I ain’t waitin', I needed it, one lump sum
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| Made men trade hands with young guns
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| They stopped manufacturin' the cloth that I’m cut from
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| I be laughin' at the beef as though I’m body-shamin' exes
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| Only time you set-trip is when you binge on Netflix
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| Reckless, run it up like, «Eso, listen please
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| Alright I like the beat except the snare, kick and keys»
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| Geez, I teach but I kill them when the class on
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| So I got no pupils like Spidey with the mask on
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| Generally speaking, each rhyme is five star
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| Split personality, I ride with a side car
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| I can’t think of the rhyme, it must be misplaced
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| It’s on the tip of my tongue like Stan Smith’s face
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| Hold on — hmm, something 'bout a fly sound
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| And how you got no bars like a dry town, so pipe down
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| The beat bumps like bad skin
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| «Captain gonna teach stuff», shout to Kraglin that’s the line, yo
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| Let the mind take you where the cameras can’t
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| It’s very necessary like a Q-Tip Grammy rant
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| (DOOM was imminent)
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| Due to jet lag, good afternoon or is that night?
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| Militants speak proper, some airheads said he act white
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| Catch flight, bread good so he tends to pack light
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| Got jokes, but usually don’t engage in no snap fight
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| Could be considered a waste confrontin' snakes on the back bite
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| Detrimental to culture that they lack sight, ass-wipe
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| Catch him on stage, mad hype, with a trashed mic
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| Month later, in the gutter, glass pipe and a flashlight
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| Lookin' 'round for something, he still scurry
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| Bewilder, incite riots, the mind’s gone blurry
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| There wasn’t really shit to say, much to they chagrin or dismay
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| The licks had 'em on the ropes, then he made a big mistake and hit the hay
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| Went home and hit the day
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| Burn the midnight oil and freak the shit a different way
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| Disaster, time is a component
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| Settin' fire to rappers in a monumental moment
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| And the game’s potent, it’s like a never-ending «ient
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| A minute ago it was smiles and hugs, now where the fuck the dough went?
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| He so bent it’s like he set the shit straight again
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| Bombs fittin' to drop and he ain’t even close to sayin' when
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| (V-V-Villain) Nothin' ever stolen
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| Was given as a blessin', think the Universe owe him
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| Got faith in the vessel but know when to keep rowin'
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| Yeah and get up out your own way when deliverin' a poem
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| Those who think they do, don’t know him
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| No different than a squad of birds ready to blow him
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| Sorry Charlie, get back up on your Harley
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| Win, lose or draw, plus beat you at Atari
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| Drop they ass deep in some far-off Safari
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| And prob’ly even got the answer to, «Who the hell are we?»
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| Metal Face squad drone, tell the real ones, «Shalom»
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| In a calm tone, bomb thrown |