| Yo, too advanced, Digi’stance, made the CD enhanced
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| I move with the speed and strength of ants
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| Identical in form with the Beez they swarm
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| Hold up the cold current appear warm
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| My first verbal brawl, started on some yes yes y’all
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| to the beat y’all, break your windshield, your jeep stall
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| Mr. Traffic, dumbin shit, from ecclesiastic
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| Cashier, holdin out, fine, cut off the plastic
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| See the logo? |
| A monument in hip-hop
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| Carved out, in the giant landscape, of broken rocks
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| Whether heard in herb spots, jukebox or malt shops
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| Uncut live, drop eighty-five, in one shot
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| Spotlight hits the metal mic, majority stare
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| Heard the Wu snare, while my iris cut down the glare
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| Walk a road the great length you find too long to measure
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| My Clan a make me rhyme like D. Banner under pressure
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| No surprise, double disc touched five
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| Those elements, kept environments colonized
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| with the high flyin death-defyin flow like the Rebel
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| Right there, but you’re one light year, from my level
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| Uh-huh. |
| yeah. |
| yo. |
| check it. |
| yo.
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| Bottles goin off in the church, we broke the wine
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| slapped the pastor, didn’t know Pop had asthma
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| He pulled out his blue bible, change fell out his coat
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| Three condoms, two dice, one bag of dope
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| Oooh! |
| Rev. ain’t right, his church ain’t right
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| Deacon is a pimp, tell by his eyes
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| Mrs. Parks said, «Brother Starks, meet you at the numbers spot
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| Heard you got red tops out, and I want a lot»
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| Shirley fainted dead on the spot
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| Two ushers slipped eighty dollars right out the pot
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| Oh shit!
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| Egyptian, brown skin brown suede Timbs
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| Masqueradin X-rated throw blades, all occasions
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| Round nozzle touchdown, Haagen-Daas gobbles White House
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| Gucci flag on the roof, call us rock groups
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| Mere intelligent, buy Nieman Marc’it out
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| No doubt, all we saw he bought, Lori mom’s all blow
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| was simple, blamp instrumentals run camps the stamps get you
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| The way we lamp, fans come and get you
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| Play, fullback strapped like a fuck, war at the black, Carlo Gambino’s stash house in Hackensack
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| Pack capsules, Green Bay 'em lay 'em down like wax do It’s all actual we build, like Crash Crew
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| Coconut, incense, one sentence, aiyyo
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| Control the holy flinch hit this, new whips
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| Roman numerals, sun splash them niggaz like, Tango and Cash
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| Alcatraz cats roll out fast.
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| Wu thousand nuthin but hardcore
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| We tryin to get land riches and more
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| Ghost put me on to it We just do it, floss or whatever
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| Take care of the business, there’s too many roughnecks
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| Give two of these to Flex, tell him it’s real rap like Ghost
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| Had to beat niggaz with toast
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| Clubs V.I. |
| clientele we lay it down flat
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| Poot out on y’all kid, now where your mans at?
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| Fakin the real like, «Damn I can’t stand Cappa'»
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| Then my wardrobe flooded the next chapter
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| Y’all heard about us like we heard about you
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| Bless the mic with reality, hit you with the virtue
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| Calm down not tryin to hurt you, burst through
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| That shit, fatter than all y’all niggaz outfits
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| We the glitch like Y2K
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| Catch the ball when it drop, guns pop, y’all have a nice day
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| «Doctor Kanabuta, Iron Man, he is invincible.
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| His remarkable armor is supreme!»
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| Yo Sometimes I’m liable to spaz and break fool
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| Grab my gun, select one, snatch son
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| Put the barrel by his face, blast one by his eardrum
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| Piss run, you drop thinkin you shot
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| Screamin like a bitch, kicks to your face
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| Shots to the body that shake like the bass
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| I’m Ghostfaced up, military style down
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| Nuff ammunitions of rounds across the chest
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| Skip to the intro, rap through po'
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| Smashed a fresh ball of wax ceasar
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| Flashy penthouse that overlooks the vista
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| Wally Moc’have tie, swimmin trunks
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| Three chunks of ice sit in Johnny Walker for advice
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| Catch the moment, fundraiser at will, work with the homeless
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| Polish diamond edge, Flintstone shit, sealed in a comb pick
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| carefully, swing the B seven series Christmas lights
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| too bright Ghost is comin y’all fix the mirrors
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| Relax like pudding, confidence strangle my man couldn’t
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| Exile he no longer in the hood
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| Bless the kid that max the most
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| Me I turn a wedding into hoax
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| Roses tied to bombs on posts
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| On commercial breaks, piss in the apple juice
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| Rasta nigga rock the big do’s
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| Jiffy Pop it’s only chant Wu |