| Yo, testing
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| This thing back on again
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| Alright, perfect, God damn good
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| Yo, this is Rondell Beene
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| I’m back on the motherfuckin’scene
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| and I’m upset as a motherfucker
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| I mean first I didn’t get paid for the D12 shit
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| You heard me rippin’on there, they just edited my verse out
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| Then I was on Obie’s shit, I was in Obie’s video
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| and that Obie go ahead and I didn’t get paid for that shit
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| And now they got this bald head weed smokin motherfucker
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| and his name is…
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| Young Zee, keep movin’for the macs. |
| Be cubin'
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| Hmm? |
| I’ll make you sing like big Ruben
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| Man, in the hood, I’m the American Idol
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| First I fight you, and then run up on your stairs with a rifle
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| Bang.
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| Tech claims make you wipe out like X-Games
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| Next sprain’s in your motherfuckin’leg bang?
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| Tryin’to shoot me like they tryin’to shoot 50
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| Either you gon’die or need a new kidney
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| Till I drop, I’m a sell to your friends
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| Till I get some of that tin, in the federal pin
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| I spit better than them
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| niggaz wanna fight me, better go get in the gym
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| or the metal’ll spin. |
| Since smokes’in 'Nam
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| doin’drugs than Eminem moms
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| Ten times, Dirty Dozen. |
| All x times
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| Bash your ride, crash when you drive
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| flip your dumbass out the passenger side
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| Uhh |