| My records spin round and round like a merry-go
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| Here we go, riggity-raw as I ever was
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| Diggy Das blow the spot, sharp as ever, cuz
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| Same pro (what?), never rock with the same flow
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| My chain glow like lines up in the rainbow
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| Aiyo, Boogie Bang what the deal, son? |
| (Yo)
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| For real, son, break it down, how you feel, dun?
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| Yo, when my record company fail, I’m gonna need bail (why?)
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| Flippin on coats like Latrell Sprewell
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| My cat’s gone broke off blowin weed sales
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| Can’t see mine, dickhead, you’re gonna need braille
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| Like females, cats is fake, I snap and break
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| your biggity-back and neck and crack the safe
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| Snatch the cake, get in the truck, divi’it up Not givin the one just give me ya cup
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| We’re livin it up, my crew get buck in berry singers
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| Shows get wild like Jerry Springer, ice on all fingers
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| Frost bear, me and my girls fare
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| New York share politican, so Hook:
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| So yo set it off, get it off, let it off
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| Set it off, get it off, let it off
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| Set it off, get it off, let it off
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| (Like that) I wanna break fool, cock me back, c’mon
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| Set it off, get it off, let it off
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| Set it off, get it off, let it off
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| Set it off, get it off, let it off
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| (Like that) I wanna break fool, cock me back
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| Verse Two: Dray, Skoob
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| Cos I’m too nice, rockin blue ice
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| Jet black Ferrari runnin thru lights
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| My crew tight, riggity-roll with the ruggedness
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| Enough of this, yo it’s time to put a thug in this
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| Look at this, straight Gz, you can tell it’s dope
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| In your face, kid, you don’t need a telescope
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| Smellin smoke, break the mic, make sure it’s broke
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| ???, you can quote every word I wrote
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| My antidote, stiggity-straight from the subway
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| The thug way, miggity-Monday to Sunday
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| Lyrical dum-dums, watch the stray shots
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| stay hot like them chicks from Baywatch
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| BK, to the UK, all the way to Guatalupe
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| Das got chicks shakin their booty
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| Cats actin unrul-ey, who they?
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| Do they, should they, give a fuck, nah too late
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| Save em, ya gotcha els, roll em up, kid
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| Blaze em, roll a whole dime but save some
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| Throw your hands up, raise em, hip-hop nation
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| Nuff respects to my EFX Generation
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| Hook
|
| Verse Three: Dray, Skoob
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| Aiyo dun son, hit me, brought the whole gang wit me Sixty, peace to low down shifty
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| Strictly, send the world in a frenzy
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| My mens be, laid up in the penzy
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| Correctly, when it’s my turn to rhyme again
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| Devils stall, play the ball, went to Heineken
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| Find a friend, hit her off with the fly talk
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| The sly talk, riggity-right off the sidewalk
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| My talk, slidin with the sickedness
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| You’re lickin this like a lollipop, sick of this
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| Miggity-makin moves on a regular, wack MC’s I’m testin ya Smack you with a chair like a wrestler
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| Boogie Bang, sewer rat buckwildin
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| Run the streets of Brooklyn, properties on an island
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| A pen and a pad, you know my steez when I’m weeded
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| Bring rhymes together like cleavage
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| So love it or leave it, I got to eat, kid, plus got mouths to feed
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| hip-hop crowds to please, bullshit trials to plea
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| Trees are blastin out my team, blast back
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| Matter fact, my game is tight and that’s that
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| Hook (x1 ½) |