| From the start to the finish
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| I’ma bark on contenders
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| Wanna tarnish my image
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| I can’t promise forgiveness
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| See I was never like this
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| My mom’s would never like this
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| And y’all was never like us That’s why y’all never liked us See I might take your style
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| Flip it back, make it crack
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| Sell a couple mil get some stacks
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| here you go now take it back
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| I’m spittin lines of fire
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| I’m in the line of fire
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| Designer attire, makin me a sign of desire
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| I just rhyme to inspire, your favorite line supplier
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| I run through fan’s signs and landmines the size of tires
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| How many minds inquire, I got mines and acquired
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| Enough props to make y’all resign and retire
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| Now hold on, and just stomp stomp
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| Get your hands off me Now hold on, and just stomp stomp
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| Get your hands off me This is hot as it gets, your shit’s not as intense
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| My flow got 'em convinced, they ain’t got at 'em since
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| My back’s against the wall
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| So if I turn and flee and run from what’s in front of me That won’t make no sense at all
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| this for my dons and divas, haters and non-believers
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| They just try’na deceive us like Judas dishonored Jesus
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| Why you try’na critique this, don’t take kindness for weakness
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| Leave you behind the speakers, body minus some pieces
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| You got records to sell, I got records to break
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| You will never excel against me measure the rate
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| I got too much at stake I just follow my fate
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| Annihilate and dominate and I ain’t even try’na wait
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| While you hang out, I bang out
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| Make moves like shots rang out
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| Wanna know, what my slang 'bout
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| They be like, «Shut your damn mouth»
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| Your chances are slim, makin’advances on Jin
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| While you, shootin’the breeze, I’m dancin’with the wind
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| This is not your, ordinary
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| My style, sort of varies
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| Slaughter you, then your crew
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| Cause you know, the more the merry
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| You already know the outcome, so how come you doubt son
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| («I'm goin’out by any means necessary»? Malcolm)
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| Hip-hop without Jin is like, shootouts without guns
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| Churches without nuns, bankers without funds
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| Smokin’without lungs, cities without slums
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| My fans force me, get your fuckin’hands off me |