| One-two, one-two
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| Pharaoh shit, nigga!
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| Yo, I live life according to The Low End Theory
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| A champion, the trophy goes to me, clearly
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| Most of these niggas fear me, seriously
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| I’m a step above God, my apostles cheer me
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| Tap if you hear the Desert Eagle spittin'
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| With a Buhloone Mindstate I start Ego Trippin'
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| Back in the lab, I’m the mad scientist
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| Keep your eye on this, when I roar I’m lion-esque (yes!)
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| Untamed, my style is mundane, consumed from the moon
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| Until the sun done changed
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| Done done, I done came, conquered my insanity
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| The man in me evolves through my vanity
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| All black tee, Philly fitted with a black P
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| Niggas ain’t ready for war to blast me (B!)
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| Ask me if I give two shits
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| If you ain’t Pharaohs, QD, my kids, or my bitch
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| E.S. |
| I made the track rap your dome
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| We uncanny like David and Manny, you chasin' balls
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| Out in left, while I’m circlin' third and being waved home
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| Murderin' herbs, reveal words to your nose bone
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| I’m Larry Holmes with a left and a right
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| I’m Roy Jones winnin' fights on consecutive nights
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| I’m Luke Sky with the blast shield down, cats kneel down
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| This is boom-bap, real rap, steel sounds
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| I watch NESN at seven, I watch the news at eleven
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| To look for MC’s I lyrically murdered
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| And the bodies that I deserted, they probably didn’t deserve it
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| But I had to do it to them, I gotta pride of lions
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| That love wack rapper meat, so I throw it to 'em
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| The Mighty Thor with the mind of Michael Moore
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| This type of war ends games like the final score
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| «It's as if the Pharaohs have returned.»
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| Yeah! |
| Celph Titled!
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| I can’t see y’all from where I’m at
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| I like the smell of napalm in the mornin', while I’m eatin' my Apple Jacks
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| My battle axe acts as a last resort death kill
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| Quarantine your city, it’s about to be a lead spill
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| Faggots better (Fall back!) Said I ain’t got (Raw raps!)
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| Fuck made you (Doubt that!) Fuck boy (I'm all that!)
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| Arrows with explosive tips
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| I’m about to get real ill on some ill, good old Coka Nostra shit
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| That’s gritty and gangster, Vinnie, pass me a banger
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| I’ll abort you little sports with a rusty hanger
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| Parker Brothers say my name, y’all start to stutter
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| Slicin' pussies, I’m a certified carpet cutter
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| Handgun (automatic!) Shotgun (pump-action!)
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| Me with your wife, that’s (automatic pump-action!)
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| Laundromat thug passion, we wash bundles there
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| Keep a gun tucked in the motherfuckin' Snuggles bear |