| Get off the fucking ground!
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| Get off the fucking ground that shit is lava
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| I was born on great terms
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| So death is not the ending
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| I’m mending my whole world
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| If I never see the ending
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| My eyes are bloodshot
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| About to pop from the pressure that I’m building til I stop
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| But nah that ain’t the top man
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| The tops been beneath the souls
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| For a minute it’s cold
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| Getting winded and snow
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| Dropping shivers and souls down from heaven like I’m taking a toll
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| I’m the creator who stays beta while breaking his soul
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| My soul smashes
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| Going through the waves of the glass I’ll be smoldering Molding all the clay
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| into cashes
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| Eating all the snitches and making the cash flip on the table
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| So I’m able to get uh bitches with brass tits
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| Sweeping the radar for all your mass blips
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| Got the juiciest rhymes that make you smack lips
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| (Lip Smacking)
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| Our voice is too loud, my boys are too proud
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| Got your ear to the ground and you’re feeling the traction
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| If you think that you did it you’re feeling the fraction
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| Cause we did it, you’re hearing the faction
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| Our group is whose digits are mad young
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| Mad sprung on the beats and teach you to have fun
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| But now and then we start trippin' on mad rhythms
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| And taking the bad and giving them bad stiches
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| Every verse we gotta make it a mission to hit these timid sons of bitches that
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| spiting some bad lyrics
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| I’m writing rhymes in a lonely shed, cause I’m a violent head
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| That can lead to homie and Adobe red
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| I’m only lyrically credible when the beats that I’m sweeping your feet under
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| are as dark as it’s edible
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| But when I hit man I’m incredible
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| I make you want to hire a Hitman to slow down this genital
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| You’d better watch serving food to me
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| I use these tomfooleries as my toothpicks and sutures
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| I’m a New Jack you’re damn right
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| I’m reaching infinite pinnacles while you’re grabbing for your last life
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| I’m a new jack you’re damn right
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| I’m reaching infinite pinnacles while you’re grabbing for your last life |