| Extraordinary
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| (New shit, Made Men)
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| The undisputed Made Men
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| Ey yo
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| Retreat your betallion quick, before your time run out
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| (Nigga) I see you sweatin', don’t try a reachable gunout
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| We take no prisoneers, never leavin' witnesses
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| Deadly venoms, on contact, my team strikes first
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| My squad’ll attack u in threes, no need for darkman
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| We last man standing, who dead man walkin'
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| It’s five fingers to death, when I clutch
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| The microphone in my hand
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| I know you niggas don’t understand
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| Play my position, hold it down just like De Niro
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| One of the coldest, Mortal Kombat, Sub-Zero
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| I shot the shit outly, whippin the hantle clinch fisted
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| Don’t get it twisted, I’m livin and dyin by the biscuit
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| But I risk it, I mean my life, I sacrifice
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| So fuck y’all twice, thats right I’m actin sheist
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| When shots pop off, you betta duck when I done
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| With the automatic pump and I’m never in the shootin slum
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| My face isn’t definately the law
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| In the jigsaw, puzzle
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| While I screw and muscle on my six-saw
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| Bringin it to ya ass, in a way you never felt it
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| Yo whole fuckin' staff, who get they wigs melted
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| When I’m rushed out, fresh out
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| Verbal bash-out
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| P.D.'s that made man
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| Ready to get off for some action
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| (You wanna roam in these streets cousin', every man for themselves)
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| … when you dealin' with some made men
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| (You wanna roam in these streets cousin', every man for themselves)
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| … don’t be sleepin' on these made men
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| (You wanna roam in these streets cousin', every man for themselves)
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| … when you fuckin' with some made men
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| (You wanna roam in these streets cousin', every man for themselves)
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| Yo, its warfare, I’m splittin your hair, with a missle
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| Cos I be squezzin' that type of shit up out my pistol
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| Don’t talk that tone, if you ain’t gon' spark the chrome
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| You shook and ain’t got no tests, starts the roam
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| Yo, we man of respect, with our own dialect
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| Elements surprise, wise guys, skill you ain’t acquirin' yet
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| I’m on that, hot rock and punk contact
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| Combat, doubt that can so you contract
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| Close casket, with the eight by ten
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| Sittin on top of the coffin
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| Never again fuck with made men
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| Your last breath, the kiss of death, from the Smith&Wess
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| Splittin' flesh and I still got a mission left
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| I keep they thinkin' second guess and
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| Mr. Unpredictable, I’m askin', spittin' loogies from my weapon
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| With indestructable niggas that called made man
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| He grabbin' shit, I grab mine, so now we blazin'
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| Tomorrow never dies, we suicid missionaries
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| (Come on cops) smokin' hats keeps my visions blurry
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| My right hand nigga be my nickel nine on my ways
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| Never hesitate to pull a gun so now you gotta face
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| These never-minded motherfuckers with advances
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| Mean I try to hear you, leave those shells in your heads, man
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| My man, ok probably unmistakently
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| Motherfuckers, who make a homicide and never mystery
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| (You wanna roam in these streets cousin', every man for themselves)
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| … when you dealin' with some made men … |