| It goes something like this
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| DJs to wax spinning something like this
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| I murder the English language without risks
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| ??? |
| don’t really spit like this
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| Take notes, my mind floats when I rip like this
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| On some black fist ??? |
| blow up the spot like this
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| Find women often, do it softly like this
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| See everybody’s killing something, even flat lines like this
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| Murderous music and then some, stab your ear drums
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| Time and time again, befriend a serial killer fresh out the pen
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| Spot me slow dancing with the faces of death
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| Erasing the rest until there’s nothing left
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| I’m dirty rotten, the completely opposite of fresh
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| Filthy mess with a sense of humor dark as my flesh
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| Starving artist, ???
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| When we out on tour, 187 on the dance floor
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| We coming with the rhymes galore, 187 on the dance floor
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| When you need someone to settle the score, 187 on the dance floor
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| We leave the people screaming for more, 187 on the dance floor |