| Bussin' cool shit
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| I keep my head on a swivel, knees deep in the gristle
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| Empty pockets my issue I got a bread it official
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| Homie shoot me a missile emotions on hold
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| And save your tears for the tissue, only mama gon' miss you
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| Lace up your Timbalands summer merge into fall
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| We makin' winter plans time for servin' them all
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| Scribe the verse on the wall empires certain to fall
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| Not till my grandkids grandkids kids have a ball
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| I encourage you all to doubt my purpose and call ‘em out
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| Nine tail fox Shinobi flow, the murda route
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| One who she heard about all by the word of mouth
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| Dance in the mirror for your king, twerk it out
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| Always a gentleman for the ones who are cinnamon
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| Menu at Bennigan’s when I’m meetin' your friends and ‘em
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| Reapin' the benefit, slide through the tenement
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| Shake hands, kiss babies, you know the regiment
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| Salute to the Wu, yesterday and tomorrow
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| How many styles will you borrow from Masta Killa and HaLo?
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| Bright Lady the kitchen, Ka$h choppin' and kickin'
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| They’ll take it all away even the pots that I piss in
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| So I’m on top of the mission providin' the plan
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| No Land Cruiser just a Hooptie when I’m cruisin' the land
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| Young Zulu I stand upon the shoulders of Bam
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| Solid as a boulder get your camcorder, scram
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| We outchea
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| Bussin, yo
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| I keep my thoughts on pivot so deep that you dig it
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| Subterranean with it, if they got it, go get it
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| Five deep in the Civic, I talk it and live it
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| I never call back I hope your mama forgive it
|
| Lace up your Timberlands, summer merge into fall
|
| We makin' winter plans time for servin' them all
|
| Verse on the wall empire certain to fall
|
| Now till my, uh, not till my, yo
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| Beluga white whale, jacket lapel, she in Chanel
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| Word to Naheem and Pernell
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| Word weavin' it’s like a spell
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| Aw hell, she bought the curls
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| Told her to twirl and she twerkin' it, what a girl
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| What a girl, what a girl
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| I should drown her neck in pearls
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| She rule the world of this lyrical brainiac, matador maniac
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| Kick the real, no slack, I ain’t fuckin' with none of that
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| I run laps round my blind poet tracks
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| That’s the truth, ain’t no lookin' back
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| I post in the back roasted a sac of the potent potent pack
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| Til my eyes criss-crossed I’m the miggidy, miggidy mack
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| I sober up, providin' a plan
|
| No Land Cruiser just a hooptie when I’m cruisin' the land
|
| Young Zulu I stand upon the shoulders of Bam
|
| Solid as a boulder get your camcorder, scram
|
| We outchea
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| I maintain that every people who came into Africa, Greeks, everything from
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| modern day Englishmen, everybody that came into Africa did Africa more harm
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| than good. |
| And that Africa owes nothing to outsiders in regard to development
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| because all of them declared war on African culture, war on African
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| civilization, war on African ways of life. |
| They began to bastardize Africa and
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| confuse and create a kind of historical schizophrenia that Africans haven’t got
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| rid of to this very day and they created whole words that did not previously
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| exist like Middle East — middle from what? |