| I’m fearless, now hear this, I’m earless
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| And I’m peerless, that means I’m eyeless
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| Which means I’m tearless, which means my iris
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| Resides where my ears is, which means I’m blinded
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| But I’ma find it, I can feel its nearness
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| But I’ma veer, so I don’t come near
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| Like a chicken or a deer, but I remember
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| I’m not a listener or a seer so my windshield smear
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| Here you steer, I really shouldn’t be behind this
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| Clearly cause my blindness
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| The windshield is menstrual, the whole grill is roadkill
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| So trill and so sincere, yeah, I’m both them there
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| Took both pills when the bloke in the trench coat
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| And the locs in the chair had approached him here
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| Made it clear as a ghost or a biter of the throats in the mirror
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| The writer of the quotes for the ghosts
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| Who supplier of the notes to the living
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| Riveting as Rosie, pockets full of posies
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| Given to the mother of the deceased
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| Awake and at war 'til I’m resting in peace
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| You going over niggas heads, Lu (Dumb it down!)
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| They telling me that they don’t feel you (Dumb it down!)
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| We ain’t graduate from school, nigga (Dumb it down!)
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| Them big words ain’t cool, nigga (Dumb it down!)
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| Yeah I heard «Mean and Vicious,» nigga (Dumb it down!)
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| Make a song for the bitches, nigga! |
| (Dumb it down!)
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| We don’t care about the weather nigga (Dumb it down!)
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| You’ll sell more records if you (Dumb it down!)
|
| And I’m mouthless, which means I’m soundless
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| Now as far as the hearing, I’ve found it
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| It was as far as the distance from the earring to the ground is
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| But the doorknockers on the ear
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| Of a stewardess in a Lear, she’s fine and she’s flying
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| I feel I’m flying by 'em, cause my mind’s on cloud nine
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| And in a mine at the same time
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| Pimps see the wings on the Underground King
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| Who’s also Klingon, to infinity and beyond
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| Something really stinks, but I Sphinx like Leon
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| Or lion in the desert
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| I’m flying on Pegasus, you’re flying on a pheasant
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| Writer of the white powder, picker of the fire flowers
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| Spit, «hot fiya» like Dylan on Chappelle’s skit
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| Yeah, smell it on my unicorn
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| Don’t snort the white horse, but toot my own horn
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| Sleep?
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| You’ve been shedding too much light, Lu (Dumb it down!)
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| You’re makin 'em wanna do right, Lu (Dumb it down!)
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| They’re gettin' self-esteem, Lu (Dumb it down!)
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| These girls are trying to be queens, Lu (Dumb it down!)
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| They’re trying to graduate from school, Lu (Dumb it down!)
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| They’re startin' to think that smart is cool, Lu (Dumb it down!)
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| They’re trying to get up out the hood, Lu (Dumb it down!)
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| I’ll tell you what you should do (Dumb it down!)
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| And I’m brainless, which means I’m headless
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| Like Ichabod Crane is
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| Or foreplay-less sex is, which makes me saneless
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| With no neck left to hang the chain with
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| Which makes me necklace-less, like a necklace theft
|
| And I ain’t used my headrest yet
|
| They said they need proof like a vestless chest
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| About the best-fed F-F jet in the nest
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| Who exudes confidence and excess depth
|
| Even Scuba Steve would find it hard to breathe
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| Around these leagues; |
| my snorkel is a tuba
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| Lu the ruler around these seas
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| Westside Poseidon, Westside beside 'em
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| Chest-high and rising, almost touching the knees
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| Of stewardess and the pilot, lucky they make ya fly with
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| Personal floating devices, tricks falling out of my sleeves
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| David Blaine, make it rain
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| You make a boat, I make a plane
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| Then, I pull the plug and I make it drain
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| Until I feel like flowing and filling it up again
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| Westside!
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| You putting me to sleep, nigga (Dumb it down!)
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| 'S'why you ain’t popping in the streets, nigga! |
| (Dumb it down!)
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| You ain’t winning no awards nigga! |
| (Dumb it down!)
|
| Robots and skateboards, nigga?! |
| (Dumb it down!)
|
| GQ Man of the Year, G? |
| (Dumb it down!)
|
| Shit ain’t rocking over here, B (Dumb it down!)
|
| Won’t you talk about your cars nigga? |
| (Dumb it down!)
|
| What the fuck is Goyard nigga (Dumb it down!)
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| Make it rain for the chicks (Dumb it down!)
|
| Po' CHAMPAGNE on a bitch! |
| (Dumb it down!)
|
| What the fuck is WRONG WITH YOU?! |
| (Dumb it down!)
|
| …How can I get on a song with you? |
| (Dumb it down!)
|
| Look B, here’s my main, my two-way
|
| Uh, what should I, ah, here take this
|
| That right there, fuck what my boys’ll talk about me, nigga
|
| Nigga, you hot to me! |
| I like you! |
| (Dumb it down!)
|
| Bishop G, they told me I should come down, cousin
|
| But I flatly refuse: I ain’t dumb down nothing! |