| Shhh. |
| I’m sayin' I wasn’t even gonna do this shit.
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| But I owe this motherfucker a favor
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| So I’ma do this shit
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| Y’all motherfuckers better stay quiet
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| Open the door, catch ya, coping for more
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| Told you before, velvet, smooth as velour
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| Step in the light, Black Sheep, rep in it right
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| Never we high, too much ebony pride
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| Something to see, scratch that, something ya be
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| Paying my dues, god knows, there’s nothing for free
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| Taking it back, paper, making a stack
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| Counter-attack, dance floors, making them crack
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| Running the course, got black, running with force
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| Rocking the spot, got y’all, loving the choice
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| Feeling the flame, Black Sheep, killing the pain
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| Spilling the love, sunshine, feeling the same
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| Setting the tone, Black Sheep, let it be known
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| Cooler than ice, hamming it up, keeping it’s own
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| Making it knock, all the way from the writer’s block
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| Eatin' ox tails, with cocktails, holding my cock! |
| Yo!
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| First. |
| Exhale with the excel, and then, call your crew on your nextel
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| And then, open up a beer and roll an L, and then, party all night rest well
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| But first, exhale with the excel, and then everything you do you do it well
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| And then, even if your hurt you never tell, and then, everybody love the
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| clientele
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| I’m the type to not follow, lead and drop throttle
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| Recline and pop bottles with designer top models
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| The type to not sweat it, stacking not regret it
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| Said it with hot head, my thing, got to get it
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| I move, like a phantom, I’m mister meddlesome
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| Destined to hit the top, Dres the kettledrum
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| Kennel one pedigree, the flow stank dingee
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| Share my point of view in a world waste din gee
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| I be the principal, it be invisible
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| There be no obstacle, above the pinnacle
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| More like I got a fuse, for when you got to choose
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| Who in a lot of crews, a million molecules
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| There won’t be no debate, my skills are overweight
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| If you can’t hold your hate, I over compensate
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| It’s Dres, D — R — E — S, the one that does it best
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| My styles illustrious, my moves are limitless
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| Now it doesn’t even matter if I do or if I don’t have dough
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| It’s like I’m walking on red carpet everywhere that I go
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| A renegade with rhymes rolling to the tune, low key
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| Opposite the velvet ropes where Heinekens flow free
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| And I’m known throughout the world for what I do with one bar
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| Slap a rapper even crack a nigga lower lumbar
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| Ain’t gotta front for nada, it don’t mean a thing
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| The only keys I got are the one’s swinging on my key ring
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| Ain’t gotta toss threads, throw rolls, and dress funny
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| Just gotta be Dres, stay black, and get money
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| Ain’t gotta smoke weed, pop ex, or sniff blow
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| Just gotta be Dres, stay black, and get dough
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| So cool, they called me old school in the eighties
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| With ladies in their Mercedes at the foot of the Euphrates
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| On some handsome boy shit, telling how to trust me
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| Till she’s speaking in tongues, screaming out muck fee |