| I’m a grown man still full of piss and vinegar
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| More sinister than Satan possessing a Christian minister
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| I twist the indica, spitting the shit to finish ya
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| ‘Cause life’s a bitch, I convinced to let me stick my dick in her
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| My first assignment’s rhyming with perfect timing
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| Finding the words describing what’s driving a person climbing
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| Required to spit fire, the fire that burns inside him
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| Is even more berserk than meteors and Earth colliding
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| But I’ve been converting a feeling, cursed and violent
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| With others lost like Jack on that deserted island
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| I’m trapped, making noise when all I heard was silence
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| Now worshipped like my birth was sliding through a virgin hymen
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| I vibe with lower classes, rose from smoking ashes
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| So cold, when solar flashes explode, I froze the gases
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| (On top of the world) Reverse the polar axis
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| 'Til both of Atlas' shoulders crack into broken fragments
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| I roam the planet, find dough and rock the mic with
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| A captive audience—my live show’s a hostage crisis
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| So tell these fools the jewels I drop are priceless
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| Combine the righteous side with my demonic likeness
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| To bless you unless you fake when lenses zooming
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| Starved for attention like anorexic cadets saluting
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| I just kept it moving, the movement’s a revolution
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| ‘Cause Illuminati views my body as less than human
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| (They're shooting) The proof’s when bullets are fired at ya
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| And they’re flying faster than rockets Nazis supplied to NASA
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| This the final chapter, that deciding factor
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| Back to get it cracking like chiropractors with spinal fractures
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| Cyphers under streetlights, party on the rooftop
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| Boondocks with my goons, beats on my boombox
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| (Rock on!) ‘Til the break of dawn when the dude drops
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| You already know the flow, so here we go
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| Cyphers under streetlights, party on the rooftop
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| Boondocks with my goons, beats on my boombox
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| (Rock on!) ‘Til the break of dawn when the dude drops
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| You already know the flow, so here we go
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| Go find a rapper spitting as dope as this shit
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| I’ll show you a Muslim Jew become a Jehovah’s Witness
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| So tell your friends and foes, hoes and bitches
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| I’ll move so many units, iTunes gets motion sickness
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| From social misfits living as cold and vicious
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| As prehistoric creatures preserved in frozen liquids
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| We don’t roll with sixes to visit the road to riches
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| But I’ve driven getaway from heights in a stolen Civic
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| I’d skate, then lay low as Jakes go patrol the district
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| Getting blown by overprivileged hoes who drove Eclipses
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| (I live this) While Rocky glamorized doing Molly
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| And I’ll probably lose somebody tonight to blues and oxys
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| I’m like an alien inside a human body
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| Been nice since Giuliani was prosecuting Gotti
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| I might use a shottie, a knife, and even razors
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| To slice these vegan skaters precise as beaming lasers
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| With spite, a freak of nature on mics, I’m homicidal
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| I’ll follow primal urges to murder when dropping vinyl
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| I read demonic bibles, drinking holy water
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| Then piss on the deals Interscope and Sony offer
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| I got a cult following full of lonely stalkers
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| Who’d shoot the president so they could fuck Jodie Foster
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| This for the orphaned kids whose home’s a battle fortress
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| Where bullets to the head are dying of natural causes
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| Not for the corporate corn chips who want to pass the torches
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| To kids as corny as Mac Miller and Asher Roth is
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| Imagine what would happen if I was that supported
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| They’d travel towards it like the Sun pulling a planet’s orbit
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| The game’s that distorted—smoke and circus mirrors
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| Lyrics don’t matter, it’s a matter of perseverance
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| Since my first appearance became a classic feature
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| I’d kick it like I learned the crane stance from Pat Morita
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| I’ll smash a fashionista, snatch her platinum Visa
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| And make it rain codeine ‘til rappers have a seizure
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| Rush to Cedar Sinai, giving anesthesia
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| While I’m going in your pockets and boosting a bag of reefer
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| This will not stop ‘til I’ll rock a packed arena
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| And I’m bigger than the fucking wine mixer in Catalina
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| Here’s the thing: it’s the Catalina fucking wine mixer. |
| Okay?
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| POW!
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| Are you saying, «Pow?»
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| Cyphers under streetlights, party on the rooftop
|
| Boondocks with my goons, beats on my boombox
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| (Rock on!) ‘til the break of dawn when the dude drops
|
| You already know the flow, so here we go
|
| Cyphers under streetlights, party on the rooftop
|
| Boondocks with my goons, beats on my boombox
|
| (Rock on!) ‘til the break of dawn when the dude drops
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| You already know the flow, so here we go |