| I used to rock with Red Alert coming down the block
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| Looking at my rocks, wearing minks outside
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| Looking out the binoc’s with some customer Ver socks
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| With my JVC box, catch you spill out, then spill out
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| Rolling around with chill out, girls sleeping on pillows
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| Looking out tinted windows, people flossing in rentals
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| I chew 'em like Mentos, burning up instrumentals
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| Boosting credentials, stopping rappers potentials
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| Crashing parties with cymbals, freaking broads with pimples
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| Taking pictures of breasts, going to dinner with bimbos
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| Turning rappers to embryo’s
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| Subway sandwiches, who want to play heroes
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| Head and shoulders, knees, and toes
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| Take a dump on your Afros, model and pose
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| Suckers floss their clothes
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| They must be high on a little bit of blow (That's cut)
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| T-wet, respect, T-wreck neglect
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| Them boys are insects
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| Non stop, non stop
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| Non stop from hopscotch and Pop Rocks
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| Foul coming out of my mouth like I’m a shock jock
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| Got it locked, stocked, neighborhood block watch
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| Swishing on you boys, all net, watch the shot clock
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| Do the Foxtrot all on your snot box
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| Drop a load on 'em like plop-plop
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| See, I could go on for eternity, non stop, the journey be
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| Self-proclaimed GOAT, I know, I know, the nerve of me
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| The constant aggression ever since adolescence
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| If I didn’t know better, I’d think my ass was molested
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| Take it out on these records, you should see their expressions
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| Hey, conscious music lovers, yeah, I do have a message
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| No, it’s not introspective, but a valuable lesson
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| Fuck around and get smoked, nothing left but some resin
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| Fuck around and get choked, might left some impressions
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| Be very afraid when Digga-Digga in your sessions, boys |