| Only a few… will understand
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| And appreciate what’s about to happen
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| Das EFX come in!!!
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| Verse One: Das EFX
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| Well it’s the super duper rhymer rhymer I’m about to set it
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| Niggas best forget it let it be or you’ll regret it D
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| So what it B… the D to the fuckin P
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| (Yo it’s me the lyricist they fear in this as you can see)
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| I be’s the ultimate drop the ultra shit fuck the other shit
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| Biggety buttah shit is how we comin kid we runnin shit
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| Now who you fuckin with is Diggey Das EFX’n
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| We flexin, cause kid we got this rhyme and took effect y’all
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| Aiyyo I figgety flow I rocket blow a nigga out the socket
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| Keep in mind to keep the dread, now they like my pocket, watch it
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| It’s the rhyme fiend about a second from the crime scene
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| The boogie banger twisted off the lime green
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| Fuck a dime we, strictly fifty, the BDP and Hit Squad committee
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| King of my city, ask my cousin Smitty, yo
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| Got to get the dough, got to blow the spot
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| Diggity Das KRS East coast on lock
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| Verse Two: Das-EFX, KRS
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| To corny niggas y’all get ate, my shit’ll make you faint
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| So much platinum on my walls that I can hardly see the fuckin paint
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| You think it ain’t before a year and stopped recordin
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| Now look we comin back and runnin shit like fuckin Michael Jordan
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| Accordin, to my niggas in the sewer
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| Yo you a, corny nigga so we gots ta do ya
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| This for my niggas on the block, handlin rock like Kenny Anderson
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| I’m brandishin, stiggedy styles to keep MC’s vanishing
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| Scattering, fuck it, styles don’t be mattering
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| My pattern’s amazing son Blazing like a Saddle and
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| Battling’s a no-no, got more Fame than Coco
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| I’m paid and still drips ya with a blade from my logo
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| So take your, style and Go-Go like D.C. niggas
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| Y’all know the haps we movin strapped on the East nigga
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| Yo, yo, well miggedy mayday, mayday, it’s Crazy Drayz’s payday
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| I riggedy wreck it eryday, kick shit like fuckin Pele
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| But wait a, minute, cause we get in it for the masses
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| For classes, yo KRS come get up in they asses
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| What… I say, follow me follow me
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| With my syllable syllable lyrical criminal
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| MC threats are minimal to my phsyical they just
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| Whittle and whittle away, with little and little to say
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| As they piddle and paddle away, they say OK
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| But I chop that ass up anyway
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| What’s your handle I got mad MC heads upon a mantle
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| I got genuine MC skin sandals
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| I light the mic up like a candle, watch it melt
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| Cause when I felt lyrics you both are screamin for help
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| When you hear it, you can’t bear it, you can’t even wear it
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| You oughts to just cheer it, go get it spirit!
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| As I fa-la-la-la-la, I’m comin with that rara
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| Rockin mics when you was googoo gaga to your momma
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| You wanted to battle KRS when you was young you told your poppa
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| He slapped you in your head and said UHH-UHH
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| But you didn’t heed the warning
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| Now I’m in the place, now I’m your face
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| Lookin at your crew but they all broke out
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| Because they nothin but lace
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| KRS is like mace, in your motherfuckin face
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| Yo DJ Dice, tear down the place! |