| Celph Titled the Crocodile Hunter
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| I keep it gator
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| The monster in your closet that you’ve always been afraid of
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| The type to come through and not say «Peace» when I leave
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| Choke your crew out in army jackets and leave 'em fatigued
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| And we scoop hood rats with mouse traps
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| Give you the gas face and douse that
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| You survivin'? |
| I doubt that
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| Robbin' your grandma for her mortgage loan
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| I’m tryin' to figure out how to strangle you with a cordless phone
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| My force is known to leave cops in plain clothes
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| Layin' stiff on the floor with red stains on their clothes
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| And if the Feds catch me
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| I’mma go wild
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| Tote a rocket launcher to the court room and blow trial
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| My style’s Bumpy, attitude stay grumpy
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| And I don’t fuck around dunny
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| I got so much ice up in my crib, and nowhere to rest my head
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| The only time I tuck my jewels is when I put 'em to bed
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| Put your tracks against mine
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| That’s a disturbing gamble
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| I’ll piss on your beat machine and give you a urine sample
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| And while you writin' rhymes tryin' to come up with shit
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| I’ll come up on your bitch and leave my cum up on her upper lip
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| In the school of hard knocks we’re at the top of our classes
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| Shit, the bullies even kiss our asses
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| Whether or not our report card passes
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| Class clowns say we’re the real smart asses
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| We run shit
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| And punch kids in their punk tummies
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| Front dummy but you’re on the run from me
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| Majik’s got detention, Lou’s got suspension
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| And Celph got expelled for snatchin' niggas lunch money
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| Majik Most motherfuckers, yeah back in effect
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| Fuckin' your head up like a John Larroquette hairnet
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| Bullet’s whistlin'
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| Rippin' through your neck and your chest
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| Fuck Kevlar
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| Rock a Mexican festival vest
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| You need a testicle check
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| You’re a man with breasts
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| Bustin' out your dress, I’ll make your bird chest fly west
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| Never the less, your style’s fake
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| So bust it
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| I’ll pistol whip you
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| With a Civil War Musket
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| Sayin' that’s your girl but she shows me love
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| Said Titanic was a movie about my penis in a bathtub
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| I hate fake thugs, always fuckin' up the clubs
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| I’ll beat you with a coffee cup, now you’ve been mugged
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| You need to be unplugged and whipped with a cord
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| Ripped and in torn I’m always flippin' this song
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| Russian fur coats, I’m a star with this
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| I’ll brush you off like a conceited paleontologist
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| Get your head chopped off and burnt to a crisp
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| Till it’s a leather tote bag and you’ll be saaaaadddd
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| I’m bad news like I’m a paperboy with an Uzi
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| With a cancerous tumor oozing (Ooooohhhh)
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| You’re cruisin' for a brusin' when you’re drivin' to my show
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| With a pink convertible Pinto, lettin' your hair blow
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| Catch me down in Mexico, sexin' your ho
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| I’ll stab you with a sword from the Antique Road Show
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| In the school of hard knocks we’re at the top of our classes
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| Shit, the bullies even kiss our asses
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| Whether or not our report card passes
|
| Class clowns say we’re the real smart asses
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| We run shit
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| And punch kids in their punk tummies
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| Front dummy but you’re on the run from me
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| Majik’s got detention, Lou’s got suspension
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| And Celph got expelled for snatchin' niggas lunch money
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| Yo, I’ll come to your apartment with a gun under a parka
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| Full of blank side
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| Use the other day to pull a bank heist
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| And say, «Hi»
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| By wavin' the barrel
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| Right in your face
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| And make you shit inside your Old Navy apparel
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| I never claimed to be the friendliest kid
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| But I’ll teach you what an enemy is
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| And beat you with the shit end of the stick
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| My own people’s will tell you that I can be a dick
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| And they know first hand
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| I’ve treated some of them to a fist
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| When motherfuckers famished
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| I grab the oven hand mitt
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| And stuff his damn lips with a lovely knuckle sandwich
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| I’ll leave your muzzle bandaged like a dog with a lampshade
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| The double standard is some gauze and some band aids
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| So all that braggin' when you catch a case, forget it ace
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| You stupid motherfucker, you’re not tougher for gettin' AIDS
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| Get it straight
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| Your D-Day been diggin' for years
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| We got wax too, but ours isn’t from ears motherfucker |