| Pack it up, pack it in, word up*
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| To all my world WP, NYC
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| If you think you got wins over there
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| (L.G., if you ain’t Dub-P)
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| King Just on the M.I.C. |
| {pack it up, pack it up
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| Pack it up, pack it up, pack it up, pack it up}
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| Yo I beat 'em up, whoever front, beat 'em up
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| Wanna battle, eat 'em up
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| I know chicks, who bump a little, skeet it up
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| Like to fuck, mics I clutch, no white owl, I hit a dutch
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| Don’t ever try fighting us, that stuck up, might of been us
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| Running from the popo, no, Germans is loco
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| What you don’t know, my Wolf Pack, about to blow
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| From the dirty south from the big city, S.I.N.Y.
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| I like broads with big titties, big thighs, wide hip size
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| Ya’ll wanna know what’s up with me?
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| No rapper can fuck with me, living comfortably
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| Ya’ll slum to me, never hung with me
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| Whether done with me, ya’ll W.P.
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| My Killah Hill vets, want respect, snatchin’ya rep
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| First place, we check ya hip, where the ratchet is kept
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| Yo my shit crystal clear like from DAT to cassette
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| I take half my money first, ya’ll spend half of the rest |
| My name Profes, confess, yeah I bang like gang members
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| Bust guns, sold drugs, all in the same winter
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| Step in the club, get stalked by gangs when we enter
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| Chicks call me L.G., give me brains before I pimp her
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| I stay with the getcha, now look I got to you
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| A thug full of liquor, you 2Pac imposter
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| Who You Records, nigga, better check the roster
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| Two 4 Warriors, Two Six mobsters
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| Red light, green light, 1, 2, 3
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| AKA Chokemon, ya’ll ain’t gotta smoke with me
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| Reppin’NYC, til I D.I.E.
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| When I touch the M.I.C., spread like H.I.V.
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| Try me in the dark alley in Cali
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| With a 'fuck the Grand Wizard’shirt, had it on Klan Rally
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| But Sally from the valley, but she said I seeded it
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| Nuff bitches in this party that I done skeeted in
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| Feeding in, my adrenaline, Wimbledon, champion
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| Forty nine, throw it back like Park Hill from Stapleton
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| Hits now I’m making 'em, D.R. |
| lacin''em
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| Period, ain’t nothing else I should say to 'em
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| 52 stating 'em, Tunnel, Speed, Stadium
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| Mad is the script, before they closed the Palladium
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| I was them, got you fantasize about, that you wrote your rhymes about |
| But you couldn’t turn the jam out, no doubt
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| All out is how we go, H20 is how we flow
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| Look at 'em now, you ain’t got to ask if I’mma blow
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| Or po’like vest, never ever smoke stress
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| Maybe cuz I’m J-U-S, I got J-U Ice, cuz I’m just too nice
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| Any hands’ll give you plenty, mami, from, all night
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| Keep that pussy tight, right, pa won’t fight, right
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| I’mma shine, playa shine, why you blabbin’bout my life
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| Fuck the mic in The Source, we gon’fight, just for yours
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| Trouble make, like porns, Warriors love war
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| You gon’see me, on tour, everybody on the bus
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| It’s K.J., not Spike Lee, but still a million of us |