| Sittin inside a room, plotting plans could plot
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| Sickest written rhymes couldn’t fit inside of a tomb
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| Kill it, kicking shit like a fetus inside a womb
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| They tryna gas me up but they couldn’t fuck with the fumes
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| Then let’s cover your face like you MF DOOM
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| See this dark skinned kid from the dark side of the moon
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| Stay on top of this cake like a wax bride and a groom
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| Blowing up like birthday balloons
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| But we never going 'pop!'
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| Stop, this hip hop, nah we rock
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| Better think again thinkin' you better, I think not
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| You wouldn’t have a shot if your hands was holdin' a Glock
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| If your day job was a doctor I’m takin them out the picture
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| Rappers is getting cropped in my square like it’s hop scotch
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| Back like DeLoreans, black rap euphoria
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| Walled up historia
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| The, the, the glorious
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| The, the, the glorious
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| Born in the mid-80's they say, «he so crazy»
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| Like Martin in the 90's or when he went really crazy
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| Meanwhile my style too wild for them to tame me
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| Shoulder cold as the arctic, flow hotter than Hades
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| A barber couldn’t fade me, you hate cause you can’t break me |
| I put your favourite artist in the garbage with Brenda’s baby
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| Watch me take it back on some repo shit
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| If you heard this offer say, you delete your shit
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| Wonder why you can’t hang with me
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| I been lynching, I’m servin' I for mics like I’m pen pimpin'
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| You been slipping I been raising the bar like I been benching
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| You fuckin' with a king like a Martin Luther mistress
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| In the cut, like stitches spitting like a pitcher flow
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| Spillin' like a pitcher filled up with water, get the picture?
|
| Back like DeLoreans, black rap euphoria
|
| Walled up historia
|
| The, the, the glorious
|
| Yo, Chi Town round demolisher
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| Might jump on your song wit ya, barely acknowledge ya
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| Hot as a fever I don’t need a thermometer
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| Raw as a pack of Ramen before you pour in the water
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| Sicken they bring us orders, leading pigs to the slaughter
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| Watching that rat burn like I’m in a class with Arthur
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| Swinging through your city sorta like I’m Peter Parker
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| I’m a motherfucker like that man who fucked your granny’s daughter
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| What the plan? |
| man flying like the saucer |
| Versus getting bodied, mind missing like
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| You ain’t in my class, you rappers is playin' hookie
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| My pen puncture the paper, you punks can’t push me
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| Ahead of my time, lines go over heads like hoodies
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| Eat beats like Doug more than Wayne eat pussy
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| Beyond focus I chase ghosts, you ain’t notice?
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| My eyes open, y’all blind dates for Frank Ocean
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| Bitch |