| Just understand the whole shit son, y’know y’know
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| It’s too much doodoo over here, there’s doodoo over there
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| KnowhatI’msayin? |
| Get with the real, from here
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| And the real from there
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| And make it Mo' Better like Blues everywhere
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| YaknowhatI’msayin? |
| Dynamic Duo times two bro
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| Fucking global, fucking domination in this rap shit
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| Word is Bon Jovi.
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| Yo, whattup, yo. |
| you know how me and Ruck go
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| Worldwide Boot Camp with smoke by the truckload
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| Or the West Coast, where they show me tons of love
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| Doc and Tray Deee crackin jokes bout guns n drugs
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| Buggin on this wack rap shit from coast to coast
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| Why not the real from both sides lick and go for broke?
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| No ass Joke, like Buck or Rakim, long arms like Dahlsim
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| Snatch up your ho, fuck her or pass it, it don’t mean na-thing
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| What’s the deal Pah? |
| I hope shit is peace and love
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| But if it ain’t fuck it I’m forced to release these slugs
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| Peep these thugs, Sean Price, MC Most Miraculous
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| When pumped up, I’m forced to jump up punk and smack the shit
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| Act like it can’t happen when would I ever let you slide
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| Two fly niggas becomin victims of whorides
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| You try to avoid my clutches that’s when you die
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| News fly fast as fuck on how Ruckus done bruised guys
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| Cornball niggas screamin, «Ruck you on some other shit»
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| Mad cause I make music no longer for the love of it
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| What is this? |
| Y’all niggas is soft like some velvet
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| You get dealt with, a single shot to your pelvis
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| Now throw your hands in the air if you feel this here
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| Shit’ll bump everywhere because it’s real this year
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| From the city of Long Beach to my home Brownsville
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| Cause real recognize real everytime for real
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| Who mashes with the craziest niggas in town?
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| Kill em willingly who got the right to make a sound?
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| My style break blocks corners avenues and drives
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| It’s about time to mash in, it’s a ride
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| Take you on a mission, be on a mission, I pack the steel
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| Steadily givin these niggas don’t pass these zones limits
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| I live the unusual cruicial life, so pay attention
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| As I come through, for you and your crew
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| It’s just a man and his music, I ain’t afraid to use
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| I bruise you badly, you want confusion, I mean it’s useless
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| To step to this, we in effect we dangerous
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| Contain the mental murderous and ain’t afraid to diss
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| We can’t quit we can’t stop we got to do this shit (do this shit)
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| Cause Heltah Skeltah and this Pound bout to run this shit (run this shit)
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| If you don’t know you gotta know you never trust a bitch (never trust a bitch)
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| Game Trump tight, we try to run this shit (run this shit)
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| Life without money, that’s like breathing with no air
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| Prepare, there’s no love in warfare
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| Engage, I meet the front page, like Nicholas Cage
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| And get served, front and center stage
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| I’m breakin through, throw up your Teflon barriers
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| And get penetrated, telekinetic superior
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| Hostile, verbal apostle in 3-D
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| Hittin every galaxy, throwin up D. P
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| We in the house, even when we outdoors
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| We in the house with dick in your bitch mouth
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| From here to down South to the Westside, my vocals Test Drive
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| You crazy, the shit I spit’ll make a nigga praise me
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| So say OH, you love the real shit frequently
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| OH for Dogg P-O-U-N-D and B-C-C
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| Me, Bummy J and the D-A-Z Dillinger and Ruckus
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| And Kurupt what? |
| We equal fo' bad motherfuckers
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| You want lumps? |
| We got some, worse than that we got guns
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| From hot ones, to legal shotguns, hold up I’m not done
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| Oowops son, and mad Glock 9's, the red dot kind
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| To make a snake hit the bricks like stopsigns, you feel me?
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| At the same time, you can catch me on corners yeah smokin trees
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| Hopin these, niggas don’t battle the Ruckus vocally
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| Potentcy, that’s what I’m kickin while all you jokers be
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| On some bullshit, niggas you movin at a slower speed
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| You know it’s the, Show After-Party Hotel like Jodeci
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| Make me blow the back out these bitches bangin they ovaries
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| I know you be, on my dick Pah but yo I totally
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| Smack the shit out of any nigga I think that’s clonin me
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| Now who, wants to be a real dope MC
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| Like Heltah Skeltah and the D-P-G
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| Swervin all through your fuckin town
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| And layin punk motherfuckers down, hah!
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| Man, these niggas servin me? |
| I thinks not |
| That’s facin a blizzard in a fuckin tanktop
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| I took tricks to New Jerz to Cape Cod
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| You could be adventureous up against tremendous odds
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| And face a poltergeist, I bring it to you nice
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| And have the whole scenery surrounded like the vice
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| Who could it be comin through in all blue?
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| Dogg Pound Gangstaz, number one, number two
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| Never evade the principle, the top principal
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| Up against the top invincible, rhyme assassin
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| I lay the cards on the table, take a pick
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| The wrong choice’ll get your whole chest cavity split
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| That’s when all the bullshit ceases, this whole frame
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| And format crumble right before his eyes into pieces
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| Fake ass assassin with no heart and no mind
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| No money, no hoes, no flows, and no rhymes
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| Waitin for poetical Satan, creatin slaughters
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| Runnin through camps like Walter Payton
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| I’m all about money makin, and not makin mistakes
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| You’re only worth what you create in the garden of snakes
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| Motherfucker
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| Yeah, and that’s how we do it
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| Heltah Skeltah and Tha Dogg Pound
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| Runnin this motherfucker
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| Yeah! |