| (Yes, 2005
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| Reporting live from London town
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| We have… Jehst!)
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| And it don’t stop till your body drop
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| Pen like skeng letting off pepper shot
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| Make your body pop
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| Get napped with a bommy-knock
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| Clobbered with a cocktail
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| I spit out a molotov
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| We ain’t playing no games like Konny Kon
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| Five-side impact
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| Trapped in a polygon
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| Thoughts of a paragon
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| Another anthem
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| Another listener held for ransom
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| Another tough beat
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| Ugly as Marilyn Manson
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| Dirtier than Callahan’s hand that held the handgun
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| It’s the Magnum Force back to torch
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| Come out of your drum and get dropped on your porch
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| By the fist of the north
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| Blue-fire scorch
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| Tongue spit heat with the speed of a porsche
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| See me on a horse
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| Shield and a sword
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| Get skewered on my lance
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| With some black bean sauce
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| In other words that means war
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| Split personalities you need to bring a tag-team for
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| Get flinged to the floor
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| Pinned to the mat
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| Splat
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| Dropped from a four-floor flat
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| (Yeah, now you see that’s what I’m talking about
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| But blud, you know what you need to do?
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| Take 'em up a level, yeah?
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| Yeah.)
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| Totally nuke proof
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| The sniper on the roof
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| Elminate any spoof rapper in the booth
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| Just toy-town tagging the loos
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| I paint the masterpieces that hang in the Louvre
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| It’s new and improved
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| Rugged-never-smooth
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| High grade tune you can puff it in a zoot
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| Dude’s fucking with the loot
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| We stuff them in the boot
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| My rap’s upfront like cutting in the queue
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| Clean up like a bucket and a broom
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| Take a big bag of boom
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| And I bun it in my room
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| I’ll eclipse you
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| Son you’re under the moon
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| Little Shih Tzu
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| Don’t put me in a bad mood I’m a Pitbull
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| I’ve got you totally outsized, outright
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| I’ll pull your insides outside
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| Leave you with a white-chalk outline
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| Too dark to see, but too bright to outshine
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| (Now see, that’s what I call science
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| But you know what, blud?
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| The vortex is open
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| Games is over
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| Take 'em out here, blud)
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| You can’t clash the colossus
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| Cyber-space bandit
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| Jack your e-commerce
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| No nonsense
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| No conscience
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| Suicide-bomber in a Masonic conference
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| And I’m doing the same at pop concerts
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| Banned already and I only dropped one verse
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| Conversing with vermin
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| A virgin
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| Heard the word 'Urban' and turned Dick Turpin
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| Turn your pockets out and I’m splurting
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| For certain
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| Pepper spray penetrate your curtain
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| I’m immersed in the skirmish
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| Roll with Gorgeous George
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| I hustle like Turkish
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| (Yes, yeah
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| Show some respect… bitch!
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| It’s the iguana
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| Jehst
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| What’re you saying, blud? |