| I wiped the chrome off wit the dust cloth
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| 'Fore I bust off
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| What’s the cause, life loss, high price to pay
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| For a small reward, kill for that Bushwick and Horsely broad
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| I provided the jump cables, through to boost the mini-pack
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| Based on the drama unfolding in a track
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| I dont’hold back, I spare no one
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| Swords swing like shogun, now who want it?
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| You see the truth, then act upon it Or feel the fire’s fore view
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| Ain’t a MC that I hit can pull through
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| That niggas are like kid, flashin plastic tools
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| Unaware of the most-year dynastic rule, what stupid!
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| Without a doubt, it’s in the heart where the best darts were written
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| Sittin at the window of the grand old earths
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| Youths thirst for knowledge, I teach but hold heat
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| Cuz some savage niggas are lost beyond reach
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| Broken homes breed seeds of no guidance
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| Left to wonder the streets and experiment wit devilish men
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| Violent, felon offenders, supreme folders
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| One-twenty bomb holders let em off and explode
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| The battefield haunting the daunting
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| Wu-Tang dance deadly emits six pence
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| Spiral rifle, barrel pointed, elastic noose
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| Plastic head wrapped stifle, survival
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| Tribal, title secret rival
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| ?Archual? |
| subliminal message throwin
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| Bitch niggas holdin on labels
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| Mic cables, capable of slowin down jets on deck
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| Fuckin you straight through continuously
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| Justice, wit more of the critical penital
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| Some long overdue, now served by the chiefs on cheat
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| Drummer bills is the street prophecies fulfilled
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| Better chill, currents to the invited
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| Bang for the 'phones, live niggas on they way home
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| Snatch poems from clones, we got it sewn |