| Yeah yeah…
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| Kamachi, Planetary, King Syze…
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| Yo! |
| They love the way I pin a champ
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| Under a tinted lamp hear my voice blast from a vintage amp
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| I kill the reciters of lies
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| Get burned by the fire from the light in my eyes
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| It’s Kamachi, possessed by the pharaoh ways
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| Underground like where the dead bone marrow stays
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| The spot where you breath is where the arrow lays
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| A sideways death for a narrow grave
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| My shit hit hard like an Arab raid
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| We blow up, ain’t no need for a barricade
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| They looking for good luck, like a barrel of jade
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| They looking, so stuffed when the barrel is sprayed
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| Since the five perfect exertions, they waited afraid
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| The devil caught from the tower on the table is slayed, pussy!
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| Fall back, fold up, rappers is so tough
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| Until the army roll up banging that cold crush
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| We send shots through ya vest and leave your soul touched
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| Lock and load up, post up, toast up
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| Hey yo, my vocal duel, payments hiatus save the local crews
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| Only the chosen few can ride with the most explosive crew
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| But not you, jealous ones they envy us
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| Cause we spit venomous, until books remember us
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| Hell fire embedded in us, plus sins condemning us
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| It’s just what I write, ignite cop killers and predators
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| I be like this, best believe I can’t be ignored
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| Spitting metaphoric, until the chosen child is aborted
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| When my mind’s in orbit, forces knock you out your high horses
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| Deal with high sources, until the meal is five courses
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| The flames is high, when my brain and the train collide
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| Under much needed change in time, the game is mine
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| I build strength through the niggas that be hating me peers
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| But it’s the army, part of me ya’ll been waiting for years
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| From a small block, hip hop, busting my tool
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| King Syze, dope shit, what can I say, man, it’s nothing new
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| I’m a scientist in the lab, with a violent twist and a gift of gab
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| Pharaoh tongue that can lash through your clique and stab
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| From the days where you carried screw drivers
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| In back pockets in case you had to prove that your crew lava
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| We was painting on your property
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| And until this day I still got rookie niggas out trying to copy me
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| Planetary nigga, Q-D original
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| Smooth criminal, bash your mental, bruise your physical
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| There’s something about the evilness of this track
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| That makes the heaven’s gates close, and the tabernacles crack
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| In fact, it separates all the lies and the facts
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| It makes you see the light right before the sky turns black
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| It turns boys to men, it turns toy soldiers to generals
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| Innocent motherfuckers graduate to criminals
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| It makes you think twice about who you are
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| It makes you feel like death coming every sixteen bars |