| Get on your feet and testify
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| Lift your voice up to the sky
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| Yeah, yeah, yeah get the, get the
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| Yeah, yeah, yeah get the
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| Yeah, yeah, yeah get the
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| Put your motherfuckin' hands in the air
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| Or you gon' need a halo, I’m a mothafuckin' slayer
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| This ain’t no game, I’m not no player
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| Nigga tryna find his way and then he bringing pain
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| You better know we major
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| I’m on this water heavy, what’s a little gold and a pager
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| Wrestle with these words a young Mick Foley
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| All I see is AC Slater
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| These niggas jaded, 'bout to set it off, I be like Jada
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| Still on the block it feel like Jenga how it tumble down
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| Hands shaking like a Rumble, pack up we humble now
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| Buzzing how we bumble now
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| Leaving niggas puzzled, do the right thing and they buggin' out
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| Know the free don’t stop for nothing, tell 'em niggas stop the frontin'
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| Roll in front, so if you ever see teardrop you better know we choppin' onions
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| I’m spitting yellow bricks, we rarely stop for munchkins
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| That’s why I do not fuck with customs, I’m unaccustomed to these costumes
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| Know that if you cross the free it just might cost you
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| I’m not a doctor or Kevin Costner
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| The way I’m dancing with these wolves, I pray I never lost her
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| Step, I keep it steppin' nigga that’s a bet
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| Relax and take notes, while I take tokes of the marijuana smoke
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| Relax and take notes, relax and take notes, notes, notes, notes
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| Put your motherfuckin' hands in the air
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| And wave them like you just don’t care
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| I’m just showin' love to my mothafuckin' people
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| You can tell your mans we ain’t going no where
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| Now keep your motherfuckin' hands in the air
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| And wave them like you just don’t care
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| I’m just showin' love to my mothafuckin' people
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| You can tell your mans we ain’t going no where
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| Yeah, yeah, yeah get the, get the
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| Yeah, yeah, yeah get the
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| Yeah, yeah, yeah get the
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| Jerome in the mothafuckin' house now
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| Let a loafer steppin', niggas better watch they mouth now
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| Leaving loaded lessons, pray for blessings when the doubts 'round
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| Thousand Island stretchin', I ain’t stressin' no salad
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| I’m in this water where the sharks be
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| Coming for the same place your thoughts be
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| Artsy, dirty mouth, I never do the flossing
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| Hardly, stuntin' on the niggas that’s frontin'
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| I know they do not want it, I run over niggas that’s punnin'
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| No I ain’t tryna kick it, I’m cookin' no bun in the oven
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| I need it on the stove, push it to the people off a cottage grove
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| Pot of gold, flooded more than Hollygrove
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| Mothafuckin' Hollywood, never take a holiday
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| I’m spotting foes everywhere, know that I get very rare
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| Faced the God, what’s up Based God?
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| I’m pacing hot, tracing opps
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| Know your enemy, patrol your energy
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| Don’t slip with niggas that pretend to be
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| Only kin of me can call me blood
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| Even a friendly can see the love
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| We do it for the free and keep it up
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| Tell your niggas they can keep the hate
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| Tell my friends I appreciate, the value never depreciate
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| This for my niggas, who be chillin' with them killers in the wild
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| We gettin' high 'til we bug the fuck out
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| It’s been a minute, I’ve been chillin' on the
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| Prowl right, right
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| And to my crooks from Chi-town all the way to Flatbush
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| We get wild if you give us that look
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| Hit you with the follow up and the right hook, right, right
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| Put your fucking hands up in the air
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| Or you gon' have to lay low when I motherfucking spray you
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| This ain’t no game like Sega, don’t be a hero
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| I’m with my good fellas and we 'bout to rob dinero
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| Give me the pesos, give me the Euros, give me the dollars
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| Give me the say so if these niggas want the drama
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| If I call my partners up, body bags is popping up
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| Keep popping shit, we pop the trunk, make you niggas popular
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| Hit him between his oculars, what the fuck is popping, cause?
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| Super Saiyan like I opened forty-seven chakras up
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| Pussy hoes we knocking up, these flows keep stocking up
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| As long as I’m rhyming I’m Ben Wallace on your wallets, uh
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| My true shottas go blocka, blocka
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| Soul shocking with the fire, probably light your block up
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| Stop your blood clot crying, the pussy boy there dying
|
| It’s a cold, cold world, I think these niggas need the iron like «blaow»
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| How you like me now?
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| It’s the motherfucking Brooklyn king of them now
|
| Niggas jocking my style, I been all on the road
|
| I been checking out the shows, I been fucking your hoes, like blap
|
| How you like me now?
|
| It’s the motherfucking Brooklyn king of them now
|
| Niggas biting my style, I been all on the road
|
| I been checking out the shows, I been fucking your hoes
|
| This for my niggas, who be chillin' with them killers in the wild
|
| We gettin' high 'til we bug the fuck out
|
| It’s been a minute, I’ve been chillin' on the
|
| Prowl right, right
|
| And to my crooks from Chi-town all the way to Flatbush
|
| We get wild if you give us that look
|
| Hit you with the follow up and the right hook, right, right |