| The flow is towin, precision as a afro trim
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| All big letters but it isn’t no acronym
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| Smacked the thin grin off a chin for crack smokin
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| DDT the first bar, leave this track back broken
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| Chrome grown men doin business with anglo sax and them
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| Lackin swing but that banjo’s so relaxin
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| As the wax spin
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| Hackin axes in the wind pretend it’s just a pen
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| See if you could pencil em in
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| Tense, mention men their honor fenced in
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| Sensed it is tends
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| The wheels fall off, then it’s the end
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| Don’t get keelhauled in, Villain always been
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| Feel real genuine ballskin
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| Not to call the whole crowd out, it’s just a few chumps
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| And you know who you are like a shout out
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| Place em in your loud mouth and taste em like a pastry
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| Waste of space, face hastily, bow out gracefully
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| Disappear, reappear, disappear again
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| Villain not is «hair», he’s no Afro-American
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| If that’s the case, he be a bald-headed African
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| Takin all the credit and jetted, astro-travellin
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| Turn the man into a mannequin for Affleck-in
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| And bein tough actin, tinactin bluff jackin
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| He’s wears a mask so when he dawns his face
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| Each and every race, could absorb the bass
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| In the place to be
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| Don’t believe the hyperbole
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| It’s like a murder spree, get sniped verbally
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| Beat in the head with lead pipe languages
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| For street cred, leave em for dead, in anguishness
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| The slang suggest it was the guy in the glasses
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| And came to help the people with they minds in they a*ses
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| And set trippin, get a grip like Spaulding
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| These walls is thin, feel genuine ballskin |