| It’s goin down
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| From the Ammo Dump
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| I got my nigga SLJ and DJ Aladdin
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| Droppin the fat tracks
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| Hit em with it
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| Syndicate’s in the muthafuckin house
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| All duck MC’s get flat, muthfuckas
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| Yeah
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| And it’s still me
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| A rappin brother from L.A., the cool T
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| Diss a brother, hate a brother, I still come back
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| With the fat tracks, fuck the pop crap
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| I got a mind to cold diss a fool
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| Wack rappers sellin out urge me to pull tools
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| For no reason
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| Pop suckers hookin for hits like hoes skeezin
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| Prostitutes that can’t shoot, yet you clock loot
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| Dancesteps with the weak styles, but you look cute
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| Bitch, that shit’s wack
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| Let Hammer dance, and you other fools ease back
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| The microphone in some twist in a clenched fist
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| Mind locked on ??? |
| load of my hit list
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| And make duck rappers pray
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| Many talk shit, but none step this way
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| Cause I’m quick to beat down a weak clown
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| Clock crazy juice from L.A. to the Boogie Down
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| I play the whole map
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| Got hoes locked like a muthafuckin bear trap
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| Ice muthafuckin T
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| Before hoes gee they need two forms of I. D
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| Never fess, not the best, but I’m hard to shake
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| Huh, watch the Ice break
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| Watch the Ice break
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| Yo, let’s see now who’s tryin to diss me
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| Say I sold out cause I rocked with the B. C
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| Y’all are bitches, you’re straight wack
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| Quick to talk shit, but always behind the back
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| I do whatever I wanna do, punk ho
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| I rock a perm, you rock an afro
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| I wear khakis, while y’all wear silk
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| Y’all drink forties, and I drink milk
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| Cause that’s my muthafuckin biz
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| I never sell out, cause it’s no sale, kid
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| Hardcore to my heart from the fuckin start
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| Whether done over beats or loud guitars
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| I drop the dope hits
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| Case you forgot, I invented this gangsta shit
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| You wanna step to me? |
| New jack, walk
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| Come back in five LP’s, then we can talk
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| You’re just new, kid, you got a hit out
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| In interviews you talk a lotta shit out
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| You got paid, you really made out
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| You went broke when your one jam played out
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| Now you’re searchin for that one more hit
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| Shhhiiit
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| I ain’t new to this, I got gangs of gold
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| I come original, then I break the mold
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| Too many MC’s hit, then fold
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| They’re just fakes
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| Hah, watch the Ice break
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| Watch the Ice break
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| Yeah
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| Syndicate jumpin off 1993
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| On some old fly smooth shit
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| All the muthfuckas out there down with us
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| You know what I’m sayin?
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| We’re rollin strong
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| All the busters out there that got some static to say
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| We’re settin this shit off physically this year
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| Like KRS-One says:
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| Sucker MC’s duck down
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| Muthafuckas ain’t takin no shit
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| I’m swingin on busters, point-blank
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| Diss me and it’s on
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| Straight up
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| Now it’s the break of dawn
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| And the mic is still on
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| All hoes are fuckin and the rhymes are damn strong
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| Many MC’s that choke from the mic smoke
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| Those who tried to get with me
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| Lost in rhyme infinity
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| Or they lost breath
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| Try to step to the Ice equals sure death
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| Cause?? |
| it's then I begin? |
| than you ever assume
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| Drop the mic, go rap in your living room
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| I love the quick kill
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| Swing on a nigga sometimes just to break ill
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| Knuckle up, buster, fool, in his fuckin eye
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| All hands, I need no gun, yo punk, why?
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| Cause if I pull my gun, you die
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| No second try
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| I gotta cool out now, so I don’t over-freeze
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| Nut up and start murderin MC’s
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| Start catchin bodies from state to state
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| Throw on a ski mask and walk the streets late
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| And do me up a whole damn crew
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| The Geto Boys was trippin, but my mind’s trickin me too
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| Cause diss me, and I meet you one day
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| And bet your life it won’t be a fun day
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| I hope, nigga, it’s not your fate
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| That you’re around when the Ice breaks
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| When the Ice breaks |