| Watch a misguided angel bust
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| Like I’m on red devil angel dust
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| Man I play off the pain
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| Bear witness to the chaos that reigns
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| Of course I’m insane
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| Of course I’m gonna course through your veins
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| I’m a beast, you can’t get rid of my name
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| Spit lit propane
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| Dope fiends, this is cooked cocaine
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| While I’m tryin' to touch these kids like Kurt Cobain
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| I guess that’s why I fuck with pills that could hurt your brain
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| Chop through the track
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| Talk like I walk with an axe
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| Confident rap, no argument, I conquer with that
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| King Kong stomp through the track
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| Armed to attack
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| Come see the concert, I’m a monster with that
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| Faceless one
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| Patience till it’s done
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| Shine bright, Shane could change places with the sun
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| Little savage in the states, I’m gettin' gradually known
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| The poet king is finally back on his throne
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| I’m glad to be home
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| Man, we got this
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| Locked, kept under wraps
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| The best kept secret leakin' through the crack
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| Man, we so close
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| We stay lookin' for traps
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| And try to stay separate from these cats
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| It’s Battleaxe
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| Man, we got this
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| Locked, kept under wraps
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| The best kept secret all across the map
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| Man, we so close
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| We stay lookin' for traps
|
| And try to stay separate from these cats
|
| It’s Battleaxe
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| Yo, kids try to kick it like it’s A.Y.S.O
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| I’m World Cup, Copa Mundial, so let’s go
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| Catch me killin' clubs or rippin' shows al fresco
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| Right in front of the bar like Pablo Esco
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| I’m a narcotic fiends go for the dope
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| I learned to secure position then go for the choke
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| I used to have a handle on life but it broke
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| Now I’m ghostriding Amsterdam flights for the smoke
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| Still you know my work ethic is strictly 'get busy'
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| They think I’m a teddy bear until it gets grizzly/gristly
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| Rappers wantin' beef, leave 'em in a meat locker
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| Fly around the world, line around the block to see Raaka
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| Money talks, sings and raps
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| Dilated out for more titles, rings and plaques
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| Sounds classic, like Chuck D and Cadillacs
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| While my Vancouver cats keep swingin' a Battleaxe
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| Yeah, Battleaxe like Golden Axe
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| Gilius Thunderhead, dwarf competition
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| You’re all hobbits to my optics
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| I’m talkin' microscopic, termite dandruff
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| And it’s from my vantage
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| Better vanish 'fore I open fire with these cannons, somethin' mammoth
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| Flow like that Flying Dutchman
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| Best who did it, done it, do it
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| Nigga no need for discussion
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| Kick hits, split yo shit just like I was Zohan
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| You niggas bitch, pussy shit, stealin' shit so I guess that makes you Lohan
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| Get ate like ??, niggas you are not that poppin'
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| Slightly carbonated, pop your top, your fizz is quickly stoppin'
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| Parkinson’s Disease in a Delorean, forever rockin'
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| And when I roll nigga, I lean so cool like Steve Hawkins (Battleaxe)
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| Nigga I got this like uh
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| I’mma pay the tab
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| I got this like, «Whoa, back up little homie, I’mma beat his ass»
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| Steppin' with my weapon, reppin' westside man
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| While real niggas don’t fuck with 'Pac holograms
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| I sit alone in my four cornered room
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| Wick burnin' till the wax drips, torchin' a spoon
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| Feelin' nervous while The Clash spins
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| Joe Strummer fought the law pickin' at strings
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| And we’d rather bail/Bale then spread our Batwings
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| Dark Knight, off light, Corey Hart, seein' dark all night
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| Time to let my battleaxe swing
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| Despite all my rage, I’m a rat in a cage
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| With a plan to escape out the basement
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| Walk through the fog
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| Grapefruit balls in my drawers
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| I’m a Hobo With A Shotgun, whistling a 'Pac song
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| Shot a cop car with a flurry of Who Got The Props, get it?
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| Sick so, dope sick, no fix, no spit, so syringe inject slow
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| The king of rock OD’d
|
| The king of pop OD’d
|
| So what’s God got in shop for little ol' me? |