| «theres a bulletin — state police, princeton junction»
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| «the militia…
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| Certain individuals of unidentified nature
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| Is now under complete control»
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| «hip-hop is not, what it is today.»
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| «its the real *echoes*… its the (militia)»
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| Verse one: big shug
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| If heads only knew how I felt about the rap game
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| Theyd relocate, and change their fuckin name
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| I eradicate movefakers, roll with coat shakers
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| Give dap to mad money makers
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| Shared cells with lifetakers, have sex with rumpshakers
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| I make moves so ima earthquaker
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| Ive been known to instill fear
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| Although the world may be round, we still trapped in the square
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| City light, got me buggin and trife
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| Some die by the gun, some die by the knife
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| Its alright, like a game of spades Im trump tight
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| Premier hit me with music to ensure that it thump right
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| And my flight, will be taken solely at night
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| Cause thats when the freaks come out, no doubt
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| And in the dark hours is when I will shower
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| With the knowledge of my trade to get paid
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| Still I make moves like a snake in the grass, roundabout
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| I be dickin it down while you be assed out
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| Puff mad ls but never passed out
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| And if Im caught up in a jam I blast my way out
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| Therell be no lettin up, just straight shuttin up Or well start the wettin up Lyrical infrared sceptor never miss you
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| Big shug, guru, freddie foxxx, the militia, militia
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| Chorus: freddie foxxx
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| Everybodys spittin it, the rhyme is hot
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| Cause its big shug, guru, and freddie the foxxx
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| When premier bring the beats, no it just dont stop
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| Its the militia *echoes*
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| Verse two: guru
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| Yo; |
| I aint one to succumb to no man, but to command
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| And scoop up the troops when its time to take a stand
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| Emphatically, deep strategies leave casualties
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| I creep gradually, til everybody knows
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| That I got more flows than rosebud got hoes
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| The anger inside had me trapped
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| Til I got geared up with raps to tear you up like big gats
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| For big stacks, watch your back when I send em in Caught you tremblin, my name and face youre rememberin
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| Several attempts, but nah bitch, youll never win
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| Rhymes pierce your skin or maybe limbs well be severin
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| Take you to the mat, peep that, you should keep back
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| My ill-kid format will lay you flat like a doormat
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| That I walk on, I meditate while you talk on And gossip, so I drop my hot shit; |
| fully loaded glock clips
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| So get the fuck out my block, kid
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| As nights turn to days, days go back to nights, we be speaking it right
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| And keeping it tight up in the street life
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| I meet life, head on, no holds barred
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| Born with a heart of gold, now mostly cold and scarred
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| En guard, choose your weapon, or get to steppin
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| Lyrical bullets make you dance from the trance you be kept in Assessments are made before, and during combat
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| I master my hunger, blow the spot when I bomb cats
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| One of us, equals many of us Disrespect one of us, youll see plenty of us Conflict, is what I predict
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| You and your fellas is mad jealous, attempting to flare
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| We cleverly stalked ya, your famll miss ya The wars on, thats why we formed the militia
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| Verse three: freddie foxxx
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| You niggaz owe me for my rhymes, I come to collect
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| For you dope fiend niggaz in rap, I here to inject, check
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| My style is water baby, spread it around
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| But when you niggaz dont flow it right and fuck up my sound
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| I get down; |
| in 89 I spit the buck in the face
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| Of every mc that came in the place, a scar youll never erase
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| Mcs are only recognized for their flows
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| Im worldwide for the bitches, that I turned into hoes
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| You heard me spit it on jew-elz, thats how it goes
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| For all them faking ass niggaz and how I bust up they nose
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| And while your, nose is drippin, and drainin blood
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| I be standing over you screamin, «nigga, what, what? |
| ! |
| nigga what? |
| !»
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| Niggas feel my presence, like Im right in they palm
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| Cause a stormy day is coming, when you see me so calm, its on No more twin glocks, they jam up my plays
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| Now its twin .40 calibre walther ppks
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| Im in the control of my game, you must respect me like the ref
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| Uh-huh, you disrespect *gun clicks* you get the tech
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| I turn you fake niggaz on and off, like Im the clapper
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| I rob so many niggaz, they should call me jack the rapper
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| Ill the illest nigga doing this, dead or alive
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| Gloria gaynor on you motherfuckers, I will survive
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| You can try to come at me, but do you want the kick back?
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| You snap inside the cage of a pit, and you get bit back, huh
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| My war is so tight, my drama so ill
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| Beef with me hangs around like a unpaid bill
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| I push these lyrics through any mc, and make it burn
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| So the niggaz who be rhyming next, will miss a turn
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| When you speak of whos the dopest mc, I dont come up But when you speak of whos the livest mc, I stay what up, whats up?
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| I got stripes while you got strikes and bogus mikes
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| Do what bitch niggaz do best *utfo sample* bite
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| You niggaz cant make up a law that I dont overrule, overthrow
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| Prim brought bumpy these tracks so I can let you know
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| Before I slide ima leave you this jewel
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| Even mechanics walk around with they tools
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| Its the militia |