| Well I was sleepin' dreamin' about my own death
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| I’m like a cat with nine lives, but none left
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| I hear word after word after word once again
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| I find myself prayin' on my knees sayin' Amen
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| Cold sweat falls off my head onto my pillow
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| At night in my sleep I weep just like a willow
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| I’m sufferin' I need some aspirin or some bufferin'
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| Everytime I close my eyes it gets rougher in
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| The rhythm cold smotherin' every sister and brother in
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| Another murder, but red rum I never heard of
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| Something when I’m thinkin' of drinkin'
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| Some red rum 13 ways causin' bedlam
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| Don’t say I’m a problem you’ll die if you follow me
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| I’m like poison so come and swallow me
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| Locked in your mind, a funky rhyme and I busted
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| But when I start droppin' wicked shit you can’t trust it
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| Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde ridin' inside your mind
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| It’s hard to see the U-N-H-O-L-Y when you’re blind
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| Some say I’m the devil, but it’s really all in your head
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| And they say when I play I roll over and play dead
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| A funky, funky rhyme is what I got
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| A sellout is what I’m not
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| Boomin' words from hell is hot, dissin' me will get you shot
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| Esham affiliate of Reel Life Production
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| All the suckers dissin' me, fuck 'em
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| 'Cause my homicidal vital recital is still said
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| And when I wake the dead the I play dead
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| And I’m not dead and then I knock 'em out
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| 'Cause dissin' me on a record ain’t what it’s all about
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| Motherfuckers wanna come up and then they dumb up
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| So get to the gat and put the fuckin' drum up
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| Nigga how you figure you was bigger than a giant
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| Tryin' to diss the undissable so keep tryin'
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| Pick a pack a mags so get fitted for your bodybag
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| You wanna do it like me? |
| Let your words drag
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| You’re bound to catch 17 in the head
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| So you better fake death or play dead
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| You put the mic in the wrong hands then you get me
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| A nigga that’s hooked on A-C-I-D
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| I can’t go to sleep at night, I get hyped
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| See you wanna dance with the devil in the holy light
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| Wouldn’t give a fuck if my records didn’t sell
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| 'Cause I’m goin' to hell with Pattie Labelle
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| Florence Nightingale, sippin' on ale
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| The devil’s in the soup as the witches swap tails
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| Can’t save my soul as I was told
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| Dropped outta school at 16 years old
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| The mic is in my hand, the bitch is on my tip
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| Niggas wanna know am I a blood or a crypt
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| Don’t push me 'cause I’m close to the edge
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| Playin' Russian Roulette with a gun to my head
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| Snub nose grade me one peace a lead
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| So if I win I guess I can’t play dead |