| Yeah, Jedi Mind
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| Pack Pistol Pazzy
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| Yo Stoupe, hermano, yeah
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| You talking gunplay? |
| Well let’s play with them guns
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| See, Allah don’t like ugly and you stay in the slums
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| Pazienza take flights while you begging with bums
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| The cult of the black virgin isn’t safe in the sun
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| Heckler & Koch, black ski mask and an onion
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| This motherfucker crack a smile like he’s laughing at somethin'
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| Take his batiman hard like I’m snatching it from him
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| He ain’t smart enough to understand assassins is comin'
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| I’m blasting this son, this something put you in the tomb
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| And that whopper go (ta-ta-ta-ta-ta) shoot through the room
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| My dude I’m a goon, strapped with two-two's in the womb
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| See and Pazzy’s spelling something and it’s usually doom
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| Shit is gonna get ugly if you violate my space
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| The six pack click-clack barrel in his face
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| Them jump out boys will hit you without warning
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| Bring pies to your crib like this was a housewarming
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| (Welcome to the neighborhood!)
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| (Samples from Yanti Bersaudara — Badminton)
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| Hold up doggy, that’s the type of weapon you with?
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| That’s the type of bullshit you should’ve left in the whip
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| You ain’t worthy of the bullets I got left in the clip
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| Soon as shit starts popping I go right for the grip
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| I’m liable to flip, serial killer and it’s copycat
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| The Mossberg lean, it’s 7 percent bodyfat
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| You the main producer of predictable punani rap
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| Chamber pressure pushes the bullet and push his body back
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| You cookin' in the kitchen but avoiding the chef
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| I’m like Heisenberg, mastermind, boiling meth
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| Homie have to take an L it’s unavoidable death
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| They say the plant’ll grow sturdy if the soil is wet
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| On some greaseball shit, overflowing with gravy
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| Don’t tell me about the pain just show me the baby
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| On some De La shit pa, I am who I be
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| The executioner is coming and it’s probably me
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| Muerte! |