| We be’s hard to the core, sleepin’on the floor,
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| Step on stage, the fly girls adore,
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| With the wicked rhymes that you never heard before
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| The lyrical lexicon, matador’s metaphor…
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| (Redman)
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| I be like, yes-yes y’allin, to the life beatin,
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| The Funk-Diggy Doc be comin’through non-sweetened,
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| The 7-G Steven, I give you 10 minutes of that high-powered shit
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| Til your heart stops beatin…
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| (Erick Sermon)
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| ??? |
| 's the new member, flows tight, lethal,
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| Scarin’those like I made the Scream 2 sequel
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| Still the Grandmaster with the two MC’s
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| Def Squad, Keith Murray, and the R-E-D…
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| (Keith Murray)
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| And it don’t make sense going against —
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| I got too many styles, E got too much experience,
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| Now you can swim or sink or jerk to think
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| Or you could freshen up or let your dirty-ass stink,
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| I don’t give a fuck…
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| (Redman)
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| Wagga, wagga, wagga…
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| Now why you tryin’to get funky like my name Big Bub,
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| I’m from the Def Squad nigga, so show me some love,
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| When I spit, I grab the dick, I’m like Puff
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| I can’t stop until I’m in helicopter cockpits…
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| (Erick Sermon)
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| Ain’t that right, E-Dub the top civilian, humble,
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| with about sixteen million, stay hard rock
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| like if I was Charles Dutton, if you got balls to test, then yo,
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| Push the button…
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| (Keith Murray)
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| Yo, push comes to shove, we rise above,
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| and stay dedicated to rap like Ghetto Love,
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| People gettin’mad from the money we makin',
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| but they’ve been playahatin’since days of rollerskatin'…
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| (Redman)
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| Yo what’s yo name digga, comin’through non-stop,
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| I be that nigga fuckin’your girlfriend on your block
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| And when I bust that 360 degrees, I’m not Busta
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| But put your hands where I can see…
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| (Erick Sermon)
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| Can’t be faded, me and my Squad is R-rated,
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| Hear my boys rockin’to somethin', you can bet I made it,
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| If not, confiscate it, it’s like fake, it wasn’t made by me,
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| Red — show’em who you be…
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| (Redman)
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| Oh, it’s my turn to burn, to wax again,
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| It be’s that nigga robbin’your crib with the Mack-10
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| With my nigga E-Dub, causin’troub', murder ya like O.J.
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| with the fuckin’same glove…
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| (Keith Murray)
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| And it-ain't-no half-steppin', shit,
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| we gets to rappin’like a nuclear weapon,
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| And y’all don’t blow up, and we always do,
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| Take our advice, and y’all could blow up too |