| My flows taming the worst
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| No, this ain’t a mainstream song with a nigga throwing game in his verse
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| Nor an underground song strictly aimed at most geeks
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| With an average ass cat spitting over dope beats
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| Bro please
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| With your ho you better be finished
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| I fucked your bitch a week ago, you better head for the free clinic
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| I’m a sick individual with a diseased mind
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| You see that pet demon over there? |
| He’s mine
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| Fuck your dawg, my words are more vicious
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| At my weakest I could scare a battle rapper shitless
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| Beef I laugh
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| In a battle contest with rifles strictly to beat they ass
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| G’s stay mad
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| Aim at the chests of the freaks they had
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| Nice breasts got me claiming a set
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| Talk out your ass and I’ll give you the runs
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| Superglue the lips on your buns
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| Now you can’t say shit like a nun
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| What’s fucking with this?
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| We’re nothing to diss
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| Stuffing dick up in your bitch
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| O.H. |
| 10 we up in your shit
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| Got something to spit?
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| Only after you sucking a dick
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| RJ on a banger
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| Let it bump in your whip
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| I’m slapping your game
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| I’m gonna laugh when you came
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| While I was tapping your dame
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| Nigga you packing them thangs?
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| Then you asking for pain
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| For a massive insane
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| Cat with the aim
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| Give a stab at your brain
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| I’m the acid that rain
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| Put your ass in a drain
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| With a passion for strangling wack brainiacs rapping the same
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| Technical cats make me act drastically vein
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| Fuck rappers, ain’t trying to like no one else
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| You’ll think I’m conceited when I call my body ten times and cipher myself
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| Pop the trunk time to mop this punk
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| Like doing drive bys on trash cans, you popping junk
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| Get your CD out my face, like I’ma cop this gunk
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| Put out 9,000 copies and your pockets shrunk
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| I need no cash, to get in your hoes ass
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| The only thing I’m spending is time at your lab
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| And you just a stench
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| Jakki explained in one word
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| Like crossing out the fuzz on your shirt, excellent
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| All my bully vets in here
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| Let me on your album
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| Now it’s mine and you’ll guest appear
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| Satan kicked me out, already died
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| So don’t tell me to go to Hell, cause I already tried
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| I gave Satan evil knowledge, best believe
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| I spread hate like a demonic S.T.D
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| If a kid get in my face, I just be me
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| If I stab him in the waist, then the chest he bleed
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| I don’t fight fair
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| Don’t square up with me
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| Like a nerd in Heaven holding a Glock
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| Square up with heat
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| Your raps are weak
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| But fly
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| Must I
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| Prove you ain’t a tough guy?
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| And you full of shit like a stuffed fly
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| I snuff guys, kick grunt rhymes
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| You can suck my dick if you don’t like the fact I use punchlines
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| Ain’t sweating enough?
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| You fire
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| I run a dick sucking business
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| Your bitch is my new hire
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| This whore is a trip
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| You can get this pretty bitch outta my face
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| Too many cold sores on her lip
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| Your songs weak, mixed down trash, your beats are chalk
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| I’ll see you at your next Record Never Release party
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| If I throw punches at your broad man
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| I’ll connect faster than Roy Jones with broadband arms
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| Or we can fight when I steal your ho
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| Alcohol assures me I won’t feel your blows
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| Who’s offended by Rocket Science?
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| I feel your pain
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| But like to let you know that I still feel the same
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| Fuck y’all
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| «Columbus crews put it down» |