| I declare war
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| The joy becomes a rappifyin weapon
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| If you step in When your draws get mobbed behind enemy lines
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| You become a sittin duck but fuck
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| I ain’t givin em livin trifle
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| The pen and pad becomes a 12 gauge rifle
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| This is no laughing matter
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| Step into this you step in a minefield
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| Your body’s scattered
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| You people drop pickin up the pieces
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| But only corny niggas
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| The attack from a brotha like the Buddy never ceases
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| Without a moment of silence the violence thickens
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| So if you ain’t got it together you slim pickings
|
| Shorts and prisoners are never taken
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| If you fakin all the booty competition
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| I’m a bag fuck a white flag
|
| Get down and dirty like a brotha in the trench
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| Leave a nigga dead and stinkin as he wonders what his stench is
|
| I’m bustin clip after clip
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| My artillery will funk on the punk
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| When ya wanna test my shit
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| Tell it to hell is it
|
| I feel my brain swell like meningitis
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| With the slightest mind motion
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| Givin me the notion
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| That I got it bad
|
| I think I got a brain tumor
|
| Brain rumor
|
| Such a pain to analyze the strain and then understand it The seed was planted
|
| That shit is ill but still
|
| The thought I’m lovin got the dome growin
|
| With the biscuit in the oven
|
| Shovin nothin but the nutrients
|
| My diet to support me A whiff of the spliff
|
| A guzzle of the forty to inspire fire thought
|
| To the mic there was marriage
|
| Causin competition
|
| Verbal miscarriage of the mental fetus
|
| Greet us with the rugged rhythm then I’m showin
|
| I think I feel my water breakin thus I’m flowin
|
| Timin my contractions
|
| Concentratin on my breathin
|
| Heavin curses at the father he has the funk
|
| Cuz if I flunk my shit ain’t livin
|
| Pushin givin every bit of what I’m worth
|
| And as the Brewin drops the lyrical
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| The miracle of birth
|
| I be the sick ass brotha, nasty ass nigga
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| A phony motherfucker grave digga
|
| I know this sounds rough
|
| But I had enough to funk
|
| So part of me the heart of me So if you corny nigga
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| It’s like cloggin up my artery
|
| You cuttin circulation
|
| So now it’s do or die
|
| While niggas always try to test my shit
|
| Only preservation of the funk is why I kick this
|
| As I give a simple diagnosis of the sickness
|
| Now upon the fruits of my labor
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| Your ear feasts
|
| The beast from within
|
| It’s some shit ain’t it The picture painted
|
| From the use of a noun and a verb might disturb
|
| We make you say, Damn that nigga’s crazy
|
| Well if we crazed, deranged well then we fittin
|
| If you say the world’s a normal place
|
| Who the fuck you kiddin?
|
| Your mind’s blind if you say you haven’t seen this
|
| As I walk the fine line between insanity and genius
|
| (*Fades out with piano*) |