| Gimme a F, «F!»
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| Gimme a U, «U!»
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| Gimme a C, «C!»
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| Gimme a K, «K!»
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| We do drugs, Uncle Howie 'til we die
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| So long as we alive keep it movin' like a drive by
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| We could stack dough sky high
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| Listen one to five
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| Eighty nine tech nine it’s all live
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| Yeh yeh I shot Reagan plus I shot Nixon, Non-Phixion
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| Fuck up competition like nine car collision
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| Now ya arm’s missin', you look like the drummer from Def Leperd
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| The walkin' talkin' death weapon that junk that the head spins
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| Peace to the X-Men, eighty nine tech motherfuckin' nine
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| I wrote a hundred fuckin' rhymes about these troubled times
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| Fuck up ya head like when ya mother dies
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| Non-Phixion launch an', you brothers want!
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| The quartet, drop you at ya parents doorstep
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| It’s G-13 with Mister Goretex government issue
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| Run in ya chick Israeli pistols, I’m here to dis you
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| All them rhymes that you spit on ya shit don’t really fit you
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| Non-Phixion we move like rock stars we burnin' cop cars
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| Dust the guards tryna top ours Howie he got charged
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| Runnin' the label, I twist tits like twin trae deuce
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| I’m takin' the stage pissed the fuck off with twin cables
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| I spit the confident, zero tolerance splash ya continents
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| Future escapades cross the rival dominant, prominent
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| Loosed at ya barricade, crush ya masquerade
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| Rip ya mask off, make you wish you never stayed
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| You fuckin' bitch, I make you fuck ya moms between her tits
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| You paganist, rockin' Avirex, suckin' dick and smokin dits
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| K-C-R and Lord Seer plus Papito Garcia
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| Non-Phixion and we the fuck up outta here |