| Jay Love
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| Louis Logic
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| Odd Couple
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| (Porque?)
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| Call me Felix Hunger, starving artist at-large
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| Independent entrepreneur, the hardest to rob
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| Hardest to dodge, till I’m offered a job
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| So call off your guard
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| I’m tryna get this loot and buy cars for my squad
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| We far from the odd, we’re a couple of nuts
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| Cuddlin' sluts, puffin a Dutch and clutchin' up cups
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| Filled with nothin' but suds so top off the shot glass
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| I got hash, it top class, I copped it just as a cop passed
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| I stopped fast, thought about it then I broke north
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| Slid up to the crib and took my coat off
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| Took a toke off the chalice in the Odd Couple palace
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| Thanks to Alice my hands don’t have a single callous
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| I think my style is different from the rest
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| I’mma spit it for a test and put the critics to a rest
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| So get it when I’m vexed or else catch when it drops
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| Either way you’ll be like, «No question, it’s hot»
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| I’m the best on the block but understand I live on it
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| Spit on it, and pay respect to those who been on it
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| Gin tonic, tonic meet gin, this is my chronic friend
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| Now that you’re introduced we can begin
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| I spin around like a record until I get dizzy
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| Black out, stumble up to the mirror and scream, «Who is he?»
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| I’m busy in the bathroom reminiscin' of last June
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| I keep talking wit' you, but I think I’m gonna crash soon
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| Why they rockin' ice?
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| Why they not rockin' mics?
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| Why do hip-hop shows turn into boxin' fights?
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| Why do girls front on you unless your pocket’s right?
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| Why 'd I spend my last buck to tip a topless dyke?
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| Why do heads gotta like
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| Shit that’s wack?
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| Matter of fact
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| Why they treat hip-hop like it’s just rap?
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| Why do street niggas front aristocrat? |
| You’ll get dissed for that
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| Why do they get away with murder on tracks like diplomats?
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| Before my track is mastered, the sound’ll shake the foundations
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| Crack the plaster, sandstone and alabaster
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| To knock the fragile rafters from an oak wood roof
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| 'Til the smoke protrudes from the soundproof vocal booth
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| Truth in the form of a musical song
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| Is like beautiful porn stars in chewable thongs
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| Cause heads get off to this, then we send 'em away
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| With their jaws hanging down like dentist offices
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| (Porque?)
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| Sick, demented sorcerers weavin' a spell
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| Change water to brew, and tobacco to weed in a L
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| Change a faucet to a beer tap, and fill a Hefty cinch sack
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| With trees until it’s stretched to thin straps
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| Who got a problem with a bottomless beer
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| That could make a pessimist smile and an optimist tear?
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| I’m probably severe as pourin' some scotch in a beer
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| 'Til I’m wobbly and weird
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| Shit, I hope a hospital’s near
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| 'Fore I OD on Old E, and stop my career
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| Hallucinate, and see little green monsters appear
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| I run with irresponsible peers, underfunded
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| Without jobs, living with moms, sleepin' in bunk beds
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| Drug heads whose lives is unkempt
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| That never get up from bed before sunset
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| We’re still catchin' dumb heads who try to front fresh
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| When you’re just half of what you could be like a chick wit' one breast |