| If you got the balls do me
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| Fasten cars to me, punchlines are so puny
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| Since y’all knew me, I been deep like Paul Mooney
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| I might show up so get a hearse
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| Ain’t no nigga worse, stab me when I kick a verse, mic’s blow up
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| Like a nuclear blast, you see a flash that melt ya
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| Fallout shelter can’t help ya ass
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| I still
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| Flow the same, put a pro to shame
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| Lyrics blow your brain need Novacane when I build
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| You rewind tapes cause ever line’s great
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| I outshine fakes till my mind stays up like the crime rate
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| Rappers today bite and pray nights
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| Wishing that they bright or say hype rhymes their mind’s assaulted mics
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| Anonymous
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| Rappers be trying to fuss, «He's outshining us.»
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| Rhymes I bust, have you laid up like patients who take on a bus
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| I’m a sweet lover
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| But don’t sleep brother
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| When I creep motherfuckers take deep cover, with each other
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| I bury men
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| My flow have to bury with vocabulary so no adversary win
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| Will’s telling me, for real, fellas be still jealing me
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| Cutie’s making booty calls like Bill Bellamy
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| Hoes are hot
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| Foes are shot down, but the flows I got
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| Clubs close a lot, cause I blows the spot
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| Fucking threat ya heard nothing yet
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| No need for bucking tec’s for rappers to duck and fret or up and jet
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| Bustas and marks are first to die when I spark the verse
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| Park a hearse for those that started with Perc-
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| -ee P, he be burning dicks like V. D
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| Only way you can see me is on T. V
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| Legs are spread like newlyweds in sheds I dead what’s said
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| Since putting heads to bed then fled from FEDS
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| Yo' hoe ass got a vendetta cause I always been better
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| A trendsetter, fans send letters to me instead of yo' ass
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| I came down to shame clowns kicking my same sound
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| I’mma reign now, if y’all ain’t fix, split a James Brown
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| I’m the poet who’s rhyme was quoted
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| Lines are loaded, shine then coated befo' they flowin'
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| Showing signs I wrote it
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| I outta auction these, style cost some G’s
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| Challenger’s eyes make tears like the Force MD’s
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| Percee P that’s me I gets nasty
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| Rugged, flashy, pass me the mic it’s your ass G
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| What I make wreck’s tape decks
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| At my apex packing latex for safe sex
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| From chickens tricking pay checks
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| Killing ya
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| Filling ya with rhymes similar to bullets in the cylinder of a Dillinger
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| Spilling your brains out
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| I’ll blast ya later
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| You’re reading essay’s on me the next day like JFK’s assassinator
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| Nobody
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| Ever went to represent it’s evident why you hesitant
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| Cause I’ll take every cent and your hottie |