| Villain got banished
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| Refused out the U.S., he ain’t even Spanish
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| Oaxacado, sock with the hole toe
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| Miss the mean streets of LA, a pot hole pro
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| The goal though in the nick of time
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| To kick a slicker rhyme, do your face like Nickey the Line
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| No, not deported
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| Be a little minute before things get sorted
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| Known to get money, never got caught kid
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| Escape with a soft skid, short bid
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| Knock on wood, dope on plastic
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| Rocks so hood, hope on spastic
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| Putting on the ritz
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| Put your bullshit facial recognition on fritz
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| I’m afraid you’re sadly mistaken
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| Paid to spit it like a bad piece of bacon
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| Take the bread
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| Even if you gotta lay down on the ground and fake dead
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| Grab that, way out the habitat
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| Where the rabbits is at, far from the lab rats
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| Man’s right to know
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| Contemplate that as these hands write to flow
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| It ain’t done yet
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| He let you know some of the results come sunset
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| Till then pack your bowl
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| Jack into your crack ho with black soul coal
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| Tune the diamond
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| Just so you know it ain’t some buffoon rhymin'
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| Hey, watch your tonsils
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| End up in the hospital, not responsible
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| Bust that gizzard
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| Then start to think how it ain’t worth the risk—is it?
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| Third degree black belt flow
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| Whip his monkey ass till the track felt slow
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| Melt snow, now that’s gold
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| Blow on 'em, make fronts, wow that’s cold
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| Stole’ded 'em, throws them dice
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| Cool 'em down, set to mo' flow with ice
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| Like liquid nitrogen ain’t no wins
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| Macro- to micro-thin, it’s your skin
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| Villain strikes again
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| Equivalent a hundred thousand milligram Vicodin
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| Not for nuttin', your guess is worth more
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| Barefoot doin' the James on a dirt floor
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| Dirt poor
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| Like, «Don't get your shirt tore, boy»
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| Crown of thorns, his chain made of razorblades
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| Gown adorned, homemade blazer suede
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| Bout to retire
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| Set up somewhere in the sun and breathe fire
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| That include tipsy getting
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| We get it in like your Big Fat Gypsy Wedding
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| No more thugging
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| And don’t think you won’t get slapped kid, you’re bugging
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| It’s all love, rhyme with more dough
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| Remind me of the fine-wine, time-raw flow
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| It’s like a worn-in suit
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| On his shoot, morning commute, torn boot
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| What a gnarly scene
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| Publicity stunt, get paid on some Charlie Sheen
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| Sell Monsanto a barley bean
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| And have a meeting-up with multiple-party machine
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| Watch DOOM’s laser
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| Graze you more worse than an Occam’s razor
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| Not to interrupt
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| But anybody else notice time speeding up?
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| Make your local police worried monthly
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| And won’t be nowhere nears your country
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| Grown and got no time for 'em
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| Lap songs, belly tunes, nylons or iPhone
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| Bitches do a knock-knee, slack jaw
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| Don’t speak Afrikaans, cockney, or patois
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| Alhamdulillah, last off the corner
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| Only thing he miss is blastin' off a warner
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| Supervillain, smooth sicko
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| Why oh why did I leave that Veuve Clicquot?
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| That’s not up for debate
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| Be straighter than straight off a big gulp of V8
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| If she wasn’t so bent
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| She’d know how the camel got his nose in the tent
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| Please, enough’s enough
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| Don’t get snuffed with the key to the cuffs
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| G’s on your bluffs
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| Keys to the cuffs
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| Please, enough’s enough! |