| I pull from the waist then my mic through your face
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| I was spotted in space, challenging light to a race
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| When my CD drops, my fans cut right to the chase
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| Too hype to remove the plastic, they just bite through the case
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| The horrible smoke, you don’t want no part of that revoke
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| So beyond dope that I could give a heart attack a stroke
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| My house is a boat full of magic artifacts that float
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| My starter pack consists of a full almanac of quotes
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| It’s incumbent of me to cause something to bleed
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| I keep two hundred and three different mics under my sleeve
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| Some wonder indeed why I have zero number of seeds
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| ‘Cause I’m yet to find an equally twisted woman to breed
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| The mic supremist, adjective and noun extremist
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| Me falling off just means that I would slip down to genius
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| Among the greatest who did it I’m listed
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| You wouldn’t make the top five if only you and four other rappers existed
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| Boy, I got that smoke, I got that smoke
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| You ready for ‘em to hang, then I got that rope
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| Bring it down, young fella, you are not that dope
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| Don’t make me reach my hand way back and chop that throat
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| Boy, I got that smoke, I got that smoke
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| You ready for ‘em to hang, then I got that rope
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| Bring it down, young fella, you are not that dope
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| Don’t make me reach my hand way back and chop that throat
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| He’s chasing me really quickly but never will he get me
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| Piss me off, I’ll put your child in timeout until he’s 50
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| On the war trail, I compose and stack more mail
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| Lyrical crossover so nasty the backboard fell
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| I’m tight clutching the mic but still subject to fight
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| Plus I murdered pressure right after it busted the pipe
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| My position’s locked in and I stand with it
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| I wasn’t passing you the torch, I was tryna burn your hand with it
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| I write words for the love that start purging for blood
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| If you lose, you gotta take a nap submerged in a tub
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| I was bad but now I think worse
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| I had a staring contest with a man on a picture and the picture blinked first
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| I don’t have to talk when I’m full of hateful aggression
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| I’ll cuss your whole family out with a facial expression
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| Snatch your life before you snatch mine
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| When you expire, I’ll sneak in the hospital and sign my name on your flat line
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| Boy, I got that smoke, I got that smoke
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| You ready for ‘em to hang, then I got that rope
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| Bring it down, young fella, you are not that dope
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| Don’t make me reach my hand way back and chop that throat
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| Boy, I got that smoke, I got that smoke
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| You ready for ‘em to hang, then I got that rope
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| Bring it down, young fella, you are not that dope
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| Don’t make me reach my hand way back and chop that throat
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| When a pen is around, my acumen drops down
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| Leave your head swole, big as the jack in the box clown
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| I’m under the understanding you planning to reprimand me
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| Backhand you and knock your bloodline to a whole different family
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| I’m fast and cunning, so much life-force blasting from me
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| I took CPR and resuscitated the practice dummy
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| Rap armageddon, K is not the one to threaten
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| Started wrecking and made it so hot that the Sun was sweating
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| If I stay in front of your house, you’ll never come out again
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| My standard’s so high I gave myself a one out of ten
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| It’s all about the win, follow me closely
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| If you lose, you a loser, we don’t give out no participation trophies
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| I wanted to get amnesia so I self-induced it
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| To get the feel of the first time hearing my music
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| Make every enemy resign with SPC on his mind
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| I’m so precise the clocks and watches look at me for the time
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| Boy, I got that smoke, I got that smoke
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| You ready for ‘em to hang, then I got that rope
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| Bring it down, young fella, you are not that dope
|
| Don’t make me reach my hand way back and chop that throat
|
| Boy, I got that smoke, I got that smoke
|
| You ready for ‘em to hang, then I got that rope
|
| Bring it down, young fella, you are not that dope
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| Don’t make me reach my hand way back and chop that throat |