| Yeah… Once again
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| It’s like this.
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| AotP, we runnin' this rap shit now
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| Celph Titled, we runnin' this rap shit now
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| ES, we runnin' this rap shit now
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| Warchild, niggas runnin' this rap shit now
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| It’s about to be a motherfuckin' slaughter in this bitch
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| We got the awfullest clips, rusty burners with the rotten rubber grips
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| We some hardcore crooks, drinkin' rubbing alcohol
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| Never use a rubber at all, we fuckin' bitches raw
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| Chokin' up your faculty, turn your whole «gang green»
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| Unload the magazine to your knees, give you a gangsta lean
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| Military minded, on the A-Train with a deranged brain
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| I was buildin' the walls of hell way before the flames came
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| And bitches love me with a MAC-11
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| Tellin' the police sketch artist I look like Jon B. with a deadly weapon
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| Keepin' it ghetto even when it’s war, ock
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| Rockin' jean shorts and a tanktop, loadin' shells in a tank top
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| Aimin' the cannon to blast you where you standin'
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| You could be in Montana campin', but your head’ll land in the Hamptons
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| Won’t grin for the camera when you clickin' it at me
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| But I’ll smile with a gun in my hand, I’m trigger happy
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| Listen up, it’s murder music 'till your wrist is cut
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| Fire octane, nigga y’all can sip it up
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| We do this rap shit here so we can live it up
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| We walk around with hot flames runnin', give it up
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| You could never fathom the level beyond your God or your Devil
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| If every thought is a pebble (my style’s boulder, I told you)
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| A radical rebel and yes the jacket’s full-metal
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| And men I’m hackin' through several (I'm like a soldier, I’ll fold you)
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| A blow to your composure, heat of the moment
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| I be meat-cleavin' a bleedin' opponent, he didn’t want it
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| These heathens try to eat off me but they repeatedly clone it
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| This industry is mine, I can put my feet way up on it
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| I put my people up on it, my sinister and lethal ministry of evil
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| Turn a Vinnie Diesel to a skinny weasel
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| I’m the pinnacle and steeple of this faction, feeble men I’m smashin'
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| Playin' God? |
| you ain’t Jim Caviezel with The Passion
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| Automatic how I’m causin' havoc, I body maggots
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| Who thought they brought the static, they probably addicts
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| And fiendin' for a bag of this antagonistic savageness
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| You talkin' platinum but ain’t crackin' pitchers' batting averages
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| Don’t make me get your fuckin' face broken
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| I ain’t jokin' when I’m flamethrowin'
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| I’ll spit a verse at you to slit your fuckin' veins open
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| I’ll spit a curse or two just to keep the rain pourin'
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| I’ll lift the skirt of you to see you pussies ain’t workin'
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| I’ll live to murder you until I see the game’s over
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| We never heard of you and 'cause of that, the name’s worshipped
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| (It's the Army, cocksuckers) Get it correct
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| Or y’all can find sharp things straight embedded in necks
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| I rep my team to the death, I will slice your people
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| Wave my flags in the air, plus the knives are lethal
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| Hottest shit to hit the streets since Nas did Ether
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| Now we pick at your soul and let your conscience eat ya
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| And take over, Crypt, Es, and Celph
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| You reap what you sow, so protect ya health, NIGGA!
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| Yeah motherfuckers! |
| That’s how we get fuckin' down
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| AotP, Vinnie P., Crypt the Warchild, Celph Titled
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| Esoteric, Chief Kamach', Planetary, Apathy |