| I put my life in this game and vow to always kill it
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| Make you fuckin' feel it with blood I gotta spill it fo real
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| I got a lifeliine of thoughts up in a lifetime
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| A beast of burned words that blazed just at the right time
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| Heat my own fury and spwak with no worries
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| No trial fuck a judge I can be my own jury
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| In no hurry I’m raw like porn scenes with no rubbers
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| And I’ll rip like torn seams
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| A cursed bastard on wax and not plastic
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| I’m here to shake the world with a verse that’s so drastic
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| Go spastic with mics beats and sarcastic speech
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| Til your parents scream «That kids fanastic!»
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| Went from the corners in hoods with slurred words
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| 40 bottles, white girls in suburbs
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| Now I’m here to reach out to anyone with an ear
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| The new Johnny’s in town I’m taking over this year
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| (I'd like to make an introduction)
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| Motherfuckers!
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| (I'd like to make an introduction)
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| (I'd like to make an introduction)
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| It’s the H-U-S-H
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| (I'd like to make an introduction)
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| Bitch ass!
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| (I'd like to make an introduction)
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| (I'd like to make an introduction)
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| It’s the H-U-S-H
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| I’m a Detroit villian from streets
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| Where the cold can crush a man in just 0 degrees and emcees
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| Can spit sick flows in the streets to sick beats
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| We get dirty in the D and the dirt is discreet
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| Rub me the wrong way and I’ll spark and cry pain
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| I’m a walking matchstick with gasoline in my veins
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| I’m known to shape shift on rappers that ain’t shit
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| Put ya best emcee to the test he can’t spit
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| I come from the city of boom and Motown
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| When the shit gets thick in the D it goes down
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| It’s like the wild wild west and I’m Billy the Kid
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| Silly of kids to go against the realest at this
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| For all you other motherfuckers with nerve can get served
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| Or come to a fork in the road and don’t swerve
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| Bitch I’m not your friend this time you met your maker
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| Not the butcher, the baker or the candlestick maker
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| I can’t stand it when I think to much
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| Sick thoughts drive me drunk and I start to lose touch
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| My thoughts turn into homicidal poetry
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| Every time I murda these beats you gotta know it’s me
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| I step to the plate with a sense of hip-hop
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| Cuz it’s kill or be killed when I rhyme or get shot
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| Don’t talk the talk if you can’t walk the walk
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| Cuz you know phony rappers get outlined in chalk
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| I’m the king of my own throne the rest are bystanders
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| Walking the streets with a grudge like Highlanders
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| Where I’m from the smiles are just frowns
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| And when the guns go up somebody comes down
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| Dark clouds cover my city all day
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| And the sun doesn’t shine in the spots that we play
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| We rip mics and turn verse to presentation
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| So you can see in our world exactly what we facin' |