| Push it back, kid
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| Step the fuck back, kill the drama
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| I be rippin' niggas like my name was Jeff Dahmer
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| I’m the mad bomber, droppin dead babies off the roof
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| Splat flat upon the street, crazy hard like a reef
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| With a loop and the rhyme I design to cripple punks
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| Parapalegic, I get strategic with the funk
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| I process my stress then react on impact
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| Flip the fuckin bigga (?) like the blunt that I pack
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| With pot, got all types, domestic and exotic
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| Big words, the mother fuckin pimp with narcotics
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| The drug head thug pulls the plug on ya brain
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| Then activates the shit that hits like a freight train
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| So many rappers hate me cause I’m a sick fuck, dude
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| I’ll blow up but you won’t and that’s tough luck
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| So let me kick back and smoke my hash
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| And all the non-believers, you can eat my ass
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| Up ya fuckin nose with the mother fuckin hose
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| Big words, you motherfuckin nerds like Pete Rose
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| I make mad hits just like a cannabis fix I flow
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| Tick tock just like a bomb about to go off
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| Body parts and limbs, I lick shots and blood clots
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| Of so-called friends but (?)
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| Behind my back, they’re talking trash
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| Cause I cash large cheques and they get vexed when I flex
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| The complex compulsive, dead celebrity rap repulsive
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| And so the dead-up result is
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| They gettin' jealous cause I got the cash
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| But all the backstabbers you can eat my ass
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| Phat like a gat like a gun nigga run
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| Yo my brain’s like an uzi and my uzi weighs a ton
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| Twist your fist around the mic if you wanna
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| But if you step to me you’re goin' out like (?)
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| Smearin' feces, I increase the deceased
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| The body count peaks you’re dealin' with the dead freak
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| (?) yo I came to talk business
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| The snakes are crawlin' out the grass with the quickness
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| Talkin' crazy shit like I should change my style
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| But fuck that bullshit, I’d rather stay foul
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| I know I’m gonna have the last laugh
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| So all you fuckin' fakes you can eat my ass |