| G.S. boy
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| O.J. |
| Simpson
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| (Guilty Simpson)
|
| Listen, do your research
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| My name rings bells on heavy block
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| You’re lame, your splash in the game was a belly-flop
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| I’m a grouch, boxing rappers like a kangaroo
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| Heater in my pouch, throw away under my couch
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| Crooked and mad, you disrespectful mutherfuckers is cooking with gas
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| Bon appetit, I go at your streets
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| With aggression, the same way I go at a beat and wreck sessions
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| Then shoot a load on your freak in Best Western
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| She’s a hotel rat, I’m the shit bitch go tell that
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| Yeah I hit it in the telly and came on the belly and remixed the celly
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| I left no tracks
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| When your bones go crack I ask «it hurt don’t it»?
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| My hobby is to body every one of my opponents
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| (Guilty Simpson)
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| I put em' in their best clothes, family members crying
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| Front row with fresh robes, playing with my escro
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| Put you on death row, Hood Sentence, Good Riddance
|
| O.J. |
| Simpson muhfuckers
|
| (Guilty Simpson)
|
| You can’t save everybody
|
| So I ante on another shotty and vow to never let a rapper stop me
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| They copy, but take it as a hobby
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| Timid, while I go get it
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| That’s right, who’s sucker-free, no more drama
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| Cause these motherfuckers got no honour, OK
|
| x 2 (Guilty Simpson)
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| I’mma put em in their best clothes, family members crying
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| Front row with fresh robes, playing with my escro
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| Put you on death row, Hood Sentence, Good Riddance
|
| I’mma put em in their best clothes, family members crying
|
| Front row with fresh robes, playing with my escro
|
| Put you on death row, Hood Sentence, Good Riddance, Yeah, Good Riddance
|
| (Guilty Simpson)
|
| They couldn’t hold a candle to the rhyme catalyst
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| Detroit Rap, Blunt rap with a Cali twist
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| Madlib keep skunk, all flavours for the smokers
|
| O.J. |
| Simpson, game over, then flame doja
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| Black lungs, I could rob these rappers with a cap gun
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| Prolly, pistol-whip foes til' they groggy
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| Forever young even when I’m gone, get CD and start at one
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| And recapture the life, it could have been a disaster
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| Instead you hear victory, in every chapter
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| The gutter gave birth to a hip-hop saviour
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| But even above all about my paper
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| Dope enough to be an urban legend
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| But real enough to do dirt and hide a murder weapon
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| x 2 (Guilty Simpson)
|
| I’mma put em in their best clothes, family members crying
|
| Front row with fresh robes, playing with my escro
|
| Put you on death row, Hood Sentence, Good Riddance
|
| I’mma put em in their best clothes, family members crying
|
| Front row with fresh robes, playing with my escro
|
| Put you on death row, Hood Sentence, Good Riddance
|
| Good Riddance |