| Can I get the phat intro?
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| This is how you was gon start it off?
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| Yeah, knowhatimsayin?
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| This is the God, the Drunken Monk, King Just
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| Comin thru for the Shaolin crew
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| Black Fist, yo hit 'em wit a uppercut
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| Heya heya heya, huh
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| Heya heya heya, huh
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| Heya heya heya, huh
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| Heya heya heya, huh
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| Heya heya, can I get some?
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| The sounds of the Warrior’s Drum
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| On the warpath, don’t make me laugh
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| Cuz you never in your life, wanna ever see the God’s wrath
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| I’mma chief that smoke weed outta peace pipes
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| Yo, bro, I’m half Indian, so you’re right
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| I’mma about to show you wit my mic sword
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| Yo Shaolin sling, come on raise the sword
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| Charge, they all crowd from the Black Fist
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| I got fronts in my mouth, that say battle at your own risk
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| M.C.'s fall and they can’t get up
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| I do the rap, why, yes that’s a cut
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| Huh, right back at you, niggas better run
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| Or feel the force of the Hell Razah’s gun
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| Gupao, gupao, my style is wild chopped in the Shao'
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| Zoo, aow, aow, I can flip it acapello
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| I’ll make you jelly like Jell-O, figaro, figaro |
| Who would think that the Just would go opera
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| You could ask Hammer, he know my shit is popper
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| Stopper, stopper, like Cuddy Ranks
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| I’m takin money to bank, and my moms I like I’d like to thank
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| Shaolin, Black Fist, they do the job
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| And Just came back wit that ol' funky rhyme
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| Bring it
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| And there’s a thousand M.C.'s, lined up against the wall
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| Timber, they all gonna fall
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| Hassan Chop, yo I can’t stop
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| Givin you that off the wall hip hop
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| To ya ear, make ya wanna cheer
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| Hallelujah, ch-ch grrrr, now I’m in second gear
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| Yo, I’m out of here, to get the mo' tical
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| From the Meth-Tical, hit the budd' tical
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| Know I’m headed to the hotel
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| But I’ll be pokin and strokin
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| Yo the hair, got Tical, got a nigga open
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| Hey daddy, who them those over there?
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| Shaolin Soldiers, huh, wait a minute, no one told ya
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| That I’m the nigga, that they call Stompy
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| Who got the looks of a killa dead zombie
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| I take 'em off, sure fast cannin ya tour
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| They couldn’t catch my style if I was a baseball
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| Bases loaded, and I got my back gun
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| Blaow, boom, bang, oh shit a home run |
| Bring it, if you want, cuz you really don’t amaze me
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| Look who’s back, it’s the Hell Razah, raisin hell
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| And I’ve been rockin rhymes, since niggas been rockin gazelles
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| My slang can bang, so I guess I be the man
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| You couldn’t hang wit my style, if you invented the Ku Klux Klan
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| I’m like AT&T, I’mma reach ya through ya speaker
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| I got more sole than a sneaker
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| Asylum, I’m crazy, I guess I’m wildin
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| My stylin, is the record straight from the Shaolin
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| By the kiss of the Black Fist
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| Shit is sick, here to make ya wanna drown a fish
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| Under water, I’mma slaughter, like a change machine wit no quarter
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| Out of order, run for the border
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| The hardcore rap act is back
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| I stick out like a thumbtack, I wipe niggas off the map
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| And I rhyme to get paid, cuz when I raid
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| I wouldn’t wanna hear ya style wit a hearing aid
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| Straight up crook, meaner than Captain Hook
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| Look out, look out, stomp like Bigfoot
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| And I don’t give a fuck about a girl
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| My crew is more crazy than Bebe Kids in fuckin Fun World
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| I’m causin niggas doom, I mean sonic boom |
| I’m fuckin stupid, I write rhymes in the boiler room
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| Like Krugger, funky dope maneuver
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| The Drunken Monk is so funky, they call me manure
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| Horse shit, I flip shit, oh my God, I rip shit
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| I talk shit, no one can shit, like I shit
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| Shit like this, get you upset
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| Because the shit that I was singin, was pumpin through ya projects
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| How much types must I say shit?
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| Well, if the shit ain’t worth the shit
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| Then I don’t wanna be wit the shit
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| And then you be like «Oh shit, he flipped it»
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| Now ain’t that some shit kid?
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| Herb like this, mound up and roll it out |