| Make no mistake son, it’s Jake One
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| He makes beats well like I likes my steaks done
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| With sauteed onions and hella worcestershire
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| A gush of beer, to wash it down, douche your ear
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| And clean the crud out your third eye
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| For the return of the word guy who known to make turds fly
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| At the first fanbase of all hater
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| Hold that for now, it’s more waste for y’all later
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| The bigger the gall, they fall greater than gay skirt
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| The nigga they call for tall paper, hit pay dirt
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| Say work, he do you one better, show and prove it
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| True MC’s flow, so lose it or move it
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| With the two bit spit, they sunk him for two cent
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| Whoever writ they shit, tell 'em quit it, they too bent
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| Cut the losses, it ain’t balanced what the cost is, in horses
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| Ahk, Sadiq will let 'em know who’s the boss is
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| And it ain’t no dental
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| Only the innate way the groove seem to paint your mental
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| Usin' the insane flow stencil
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| He said in plain English, ain’t payin' yo' rent bill
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| But still, the gent was ill
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| With the intent to kill, the scent was krill
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| To the full extent of skill, vent the grill
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| Vil a make 'em feel like the deal spent a mill'
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| Meant it for real folks, bet’cha dyin' dollar
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| Dented the steel choke when he met the iron collar
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| Wrote this oath while pinching a loaf
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| Metal Face, Rhymesayers mention 'em both
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| Raise your right palm, we do solemnly swear
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| To stack more dough more calmly this year
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| DOOM get the cash like cow, cheddar son
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| Have it in a smash like bow, get 'er done |