| He who’s back like guess again
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| Be the OG with these new age testaments
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| They save scrilla as they bumpin on the dilla
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| Them audio dope dealers and sound wave killers SAVEMONEY
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| Can’t join em or kill us with them weak tactics
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| That be warfare for guerrillas
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| To them
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| Soft niggas hurting thats a bunch Clay Aiken
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| Starving and shaking how they left em in the basement
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| Deep down waiting for they spots in the light
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| But the gloves don’t fit those who tossed in the fight
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| The underhanded left right rotting in the dust
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| Feeling cold how his soul be so hot to the touch
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| He speak tongues as he spit to the church
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| And lost em in they speech when he sparked up the Dutch
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| And thats a med to the cluck
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| Fuck a nigga life up in the name of a buck
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| In the city where the wind don’t sleep
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| The sun don’t rise how the moon stay peaked
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| Yo day stand still if you lost them sheep in the nightime
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| Where them wolves hounding yo dogs if the cuts prime
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| Rough rough
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| Rough is how they keep it
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| The barks so loud that the bite ain’t no secret
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| Unless you wanna peep it
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| And get left six feet beneath it
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| Runaway tail tucked little creatures
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| Preach it when he spoke speak leave em speechless
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| Kept em breathless every time he seem to breath script
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| Trust how the words stay clutch
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| The eyes on the money for them ls that you puff
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| Yo he open eyes to the unseen
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| Theories make em dream puffin dimethyltriptamine |