| Yeah what?
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| Time for lyrical shanks to your gut
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| Death to wack MC’s
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| First up is my nigga Lonnie B
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| First up to make it liver, I catch wreck like drunk drivers
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| Been through many battles but I left no survivors
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| So WHASSUP? |
| Those that want a beef nigga bring it on
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| Cause when I’m done, it’ll be my dick that you’re swingin on
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| From the way I say my rap clear
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| I make people more excited than a faggot that got a pap smear
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| The crooked truth rap sensation, I ain’t to be fucked with
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| You better off practicin masturbation
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| Line after line I bring excitement like a hooker
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| So put rubbers on your ears, then diaphragms on your woofer
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| As the rhyme buster, mic clutcher, from Richmond
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| Show the real definition of the word represent
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| (SOUTHSIDE!) The place where I dwell so
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| Recog-NAS NAS NAS, that _It Ain’t Hard to Tell_
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| Who’s the best, blessed with lyrical, context that kick
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| Just like that little girl that got shot in +Fresh+
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| Word to momma, I’m hotter than that nigga with the bomber
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| Leather pants on, in hell holdin hands with Jeffrey Dahmer
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| Yo, let me make this clear — I ain’t the baddest rapper out there
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| But I’ma take his place until he get here
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| The sun shitter, hoarse all-star spitter
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| More? |
| and asteroid transfixer
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| Upchucks the medicine, chest of anguish
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| In a fantasy, holy sign language
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| I hit worlds, and my strange sperm gives birth
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| To septuplet lady plants
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| Check my tympanic titanic time pulse
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| By the grace of the Immortal One
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| I am the poisonous priest of fifty until the? |
| m'salaam?
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| So every naked ape on Earth bow down in silence
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| To the slumlord, of all universe reality
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| Ironic supalism sodomizes your mentality
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| Science super-mystics and futuristics join in wedlock
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| So my freon cyrogenics make your head rot pop then bust
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| From galactic cryathallic mechany mal ??
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| Preposterous, ice in my drop, yeah that’s niggas
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| When I bend prisms and ride soundwaves in your eutrichula
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| Malopropism is none, when I cerebrum wash in your brain pan
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| Mixin ooze, your state of bein and attitude
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| Petuitary shrinks, accepts it when
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| I bite then flatten your head
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| Richencypholic surgeon of my cosmorama, astrophysical
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| Invades one, individual stands
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| And uses cosmic radiation as a cosmetic
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| To beautify inner fantastic, gory flow
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| So, writing weak rhymes to your boomin system is no mo'
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| When I induce arthritic rheumatism
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| In dosages in sterile toxosins, ex-osmosis
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| Infect the schlerois, of your trickanumerolagia
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| Understand, who are you, to defend against, Mindbenda
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| Yeah the Northside click, rocks the spot
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| The Forever People, rocks the spot
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| DJ Street, rocks the spot
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| To the Roc comin next, time to get your props
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| Yo, umm, befo' I knock out yo' lies
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| There is something you need to know
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| Breakin mo' grounds than aftershocks from the earthquakes in San Fran'
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| More determination than a bull, seein Redman
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| Imagine, Technic glare +From Where???+
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| Competition say I gotta be display em in a photo album
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| Disorganized has the other file
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| Bein flamboyant like? |
| herbal user, slash, barracuda
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| With key maneuvers like silent troopers of styles
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| ?? |
| to split your wig and nip your eyebrows
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| Go to space and greet the stars, huh
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| Started chewin on the Milky Way, thought it was the candy bar
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| You get the gong cause we niggas do wrong
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| And if you’re young, and in love, do the moves of Michael Evens
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| Singin songs, big up to my peoples Northside
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| Show the brotherhood, how I recognize
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| I’ve been, detonatin equivalyrical exposives
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| Rambo soldiers deep like the black trials of Moses
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| Madness and wisdom accelerates my pendulum
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| No attackin my forces of life, cause I got ten of em
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| Dangerous, disciple killin images
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| My warfare dreads be just like Nemesis
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| Infiltrates, holy massacres like? |
| tnakarid?
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| My religion break down prisons for missionaries
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| In it to survive, so enlist, in strategies
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| My non-exist thinkin only lead, to casualties
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| I’m battlin, invadin, interceptin
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| Makin sure don’t nuttin move in your section
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| Don’t misinterpret my threats as just talk
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| And the raise of a hand can make, worlds start haltin
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| The almighty, leavin Gods and nations lost
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| Cause when my shit hits I leave holes like sawed-offs |
| Yo, it’s the Mad child layin verses like tile
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| Niggas go impotent, when I kick these potent ass freestyles
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| Wack MC’s get mad and look at me hard
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| Cause they used to be the shit, like McDonald’s on Broad
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| It’s odd, how niggas try to bomb
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| Then I be fadin more motherfuckers than AIDS story harvest
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| Throwin niggas away like apple cores — I don’t wanna see shit
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| But some hits and Ed McMahon at my front door
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| I’m rippin tapes, niggas still makin SHIT cakes
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| Slippin down to fall off dudes tryin to get they shit straight
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| I’m tryin to get paid troop -- I want more G’s
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| Than a girl named GiGi gaggin on some gin and garlic glue
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| Niggas think they hype, but they ain’t touchin these
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| Their styles plaid out like stripe cuffed Lee’s
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| Please! |
| In ninety-five, I’ma be straight
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| Stealin MC’s like DJ’s be stealin milk crates
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| Ask Dre, can’t nobody hack it, they ill Dre?
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| You get beheaded with a motherfuckin hatchet
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| Haste makes waste and taste the bass
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| When you see me — you don’t see me get the FUCK out my face
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| To that nigga Speedis Toine, rock the house
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| To them heads Raw Deal, rock the spot
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| To Mike the Merciless, rock the spot
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| To my brother Danja Mowf, rock the spot. |