| Yeah, son, it’s the Einstein Theodore theory, street philosphy
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| Step foot on our block, there’s no way possibly
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| Guns too big for you, to ever try stoppin’me
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| Talk out your mouth, you better speak properly
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| Aiyo, first of all, you ain’t worth to brawl
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| And my fifth, call it the gift, when I curse you all
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| See I’m a soldier, look at my ranks
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| On the block, we got that water bubblin’like we cookin’up franks
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| This is Trife Diesel, get familiar with the name
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| I’m here, to stay for a while, so steel it in your brain
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| My guerrillas’ll bang, we are the Planet of the Apes
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| Clips as long as bananas, throw them hammers in your face
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| From the land of the pushers, hustlers and handlers
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| With military, heavyweight standers
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| Cameras on the cannons, move amongst hoes and gamblers
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| Empties on my project balconies
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| My guns vow for me, my bitch count for me
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| I’m royalty, motherfucker gon’bow to me 20−04, vampires that’ll rip off your neck
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| And eat your garlic, murder, from New York to Charlotte
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| It’ll beat a nigga down like Sonny Carlton, when he ran through a gauntlet
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| Yo, my plate never pork, I sink deep into minds where you can’t talk
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| Cough it up, bitch, I shine like Chinaware
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| Shine like the box in the live ball player amped
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| Fuck Mike Jordan, it’s P-Tone in the air
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| Pullin’over NARCs with mad coke stashed in the spare
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| Guns and all that, the NARCs said, why you dipped in all black
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| Said, I’m comin’from a funeral, y’all boys can fall back
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| It’s Wiganomics, I drop like a brick in the third
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| And y’all fruit cake niggaz think my style’s absurd
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| Only the birds I blow back, Staten Island super gat
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| Talk is pork, I get that money then stupid stack
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| Theodore, we state of the art, you wanna keep that
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| Chain around your neck, you better play your part
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| Cuz ain’t a damn thing sweet, like the Wonka Factory
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| This the Enterprise/Theodore shit, you no match for me |