| I’ll drag you 'cross the water, from Houston to Israel
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| I’m a seven course gourmet feast, you a kid’s meal
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| Take a sledge hammer, and damage the frame of your Caddy
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| Embarrass you, and make your own kids ashamed of they daddy
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| The people asking you questions, you answering none
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| Out of the trunk, selling mo' junk than Sanford and Son
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| You thought testing was a smart move, now you feel dumb
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| Like the Texans stupid ass, for not drafting Vince Young
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| You opened the door so here I come gunning, no time for no battlers
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| Me and the Time Traveler rattle ya, with a perammeter
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| Batter ya boy let’s chatter yuh, leave you for scavengers
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| Adding you to the long list, of dismissed wanna-be challengers
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| Haven’t ya realized yet, all that talk make me aggressive
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| Dig in your chest bring the broad out you, like some kind of decongestive
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| Material imperial mind, your flow is reposessive
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| It ain’t the fact that you’re whack black, I’m just very impressive mayn
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| Come on down, to Texas partna
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| Tight flows, or anything you need we got ya
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| Serving you, Southern hospitality proper
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| But know this, you step out of line we drop ya
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| The chorus and rap singing, a Don is
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| Verbally I astonish, get you hooked on my phonics
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| K-Rino spitting that plain flame, I soulfully punish
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| You trapped in a web’s game, and into the eyes of who’s punint
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| Locked down we run it, hands down no question
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| 6'4 with a 5'5, wild child mic molesting
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| Bark like Mr. Smith, bite like Wesson
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| Professor ay step up, and get taught a top flight lesson
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| I laugh at ya, K-Rino the paragraph smasher
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| Catch you eating, snatch the food off your plate and won’t even ask ya
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| If we bet who raps can outlast, you’ll be a cash passer
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| One of the first, still one of the last of the ass thrashers
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| I’m down with Chalie Boy, if he call me I’m in his corner
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| Twenty thousand yards away, take off sprinting and run up on ya
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| I vacation in my own hood, keep the Bahammas
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| We got mo' flows, than a welfare office got baby mamas
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| I break a microphone is half, like the leg of Joe Theisman
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| If words was rushing yards, I would probably win the Heisman
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| Me temp is rising, your chance of survival is barely breathing
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| You telling lies with your hands on the bible, you damn heathen
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| I verbally, and verbally capture ya
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| Hit your car simultaneously, word slapping the driver and the passenger
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| You talking like a pimp, but you steady tricking homes
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| I be on your gal all night long, like a Cricket phone
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| Etching my name in history books, walking amongst legends
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| A part of a coalition, Texas ghetto street reverends
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| Chargers the game like Tomlinson, send you packing like Levans
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| Have you struggling to survive, like James and Florida Evans
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| Darkness about to set in, prepare for the on start
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| Shaking like a child fooling with a pit, just got his arm caught
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| You weak I ain’t say that, that’s what your mom thought
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| You bring a threat to me, like them nuclear bombs Sadaam brought none |