| Whoever is on the front line is gettin' struck first
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| We mercenaries, fuck turf
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| Every verse is varied, I bust first
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| Mayday, Natural Elements controllin' the ship
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| Rollin' a spliff that’ll probably put my soul in a twist
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| But I remain bonin' a bitch
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| Got her buck-naked posin' for flicks
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| Actin' like she was never known for the shit
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| But I look over the shoulder and see the enemy lookin'
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| Physically strong but mentally shooken
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| And for penetentiary bookin’s this shit happens
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| Get orders from my nigga Charlemagne the ship Captain
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| You sound like a bitch yappin'
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| This shit is all Natural to us
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| Like blowin' endo out the window in the back of the bus
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| I move back and I bust
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| Rapid fire
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| You actin' flyer
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| Now your family’s in black attire
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| With mad desire
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| When we caught you in the line of duty
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| You had it in your mind to shoot me
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| But every soldier of my kind sollutes me
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| Now I’m reclinin' with a Lucy
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| All of my niggas
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| Smoke it down to the filter
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| Holdin' a frown with a picture
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| You smell the smoke when I walk past
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| You saw blasts
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| You should’ve known about the drama in my warpath
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| Chorus — Mayday Mayday, raise the white flags, time for the payday
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| Payday, and it’s like that, out shit is World Wide, North, South, East
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| And West, put on your shield, lets see who’s the best. |
| Repeat 1x
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| Verse 2: (Mr. Voo-Doo)
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| You feel the burnin' emission
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| You squirm in submission
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| No terms and conditions
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| Ya’ll confirm my suspicions
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| That ya’ll are bitches that resemble Men
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| Like female Tennis players at Wimbledon
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| Why you tremblin'?
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| Shook like the ricter
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| My voice raise waves
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| And make ya’ll change ways like crooks turnin Muslim
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| Blast shots burnin' your Bosom
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| Like bitch cramps
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| You got lucky your people told you switch camps
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| Or get damp with plenty led
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| I’m like a beast with many heads
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| Sort of like the Predators dreads
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| I got more arms than Dr. Octavious
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| Rock your whole block radius
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| I be the bomb
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| And I bleed nitrogliceren if you slice my palm
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| The Don been gone for how long from the rap biz?
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| Wet more domes than John the baptist
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| When the gat spits
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| It ain’t over 'till the last man’s limbs
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| Are twisted like he was doin Yoga
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| In fact my Pistol’s longer than the Jokers
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| I ignite Mag’s
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| Leave your toe wearin' a white tag
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| So, ya’ll niggas better raise the white flag
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| Verse 3: (A-Butta)
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| I swear there’s a war brewing in the air in New York streets
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| You talk beef? |
| Catch a swollen melon
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| This ghetto rumbles, with loaded weapons, nowhere to run to
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| We mega high, jet in the sky, dropping bombs
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| Prepare to crumble
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| As we rock on, beware the jungle, with Anacondas
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| Don’t puff too much, cause adversaries smell the Marijuana
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| We blasting every object in combat with honor
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| So yo, remember the agenda with the plan of action
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| No retreat, no surrender, keep the cannons blasting
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| We blowing heat 'til each member of your fleet are has-beens
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| Soldiers banging, whose click’ll get done?
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| My crew can taste victory, from the tip of the tongue
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| Who gets laced physically? |
| Take the clip for the gun
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| And put it in, cause when it’s on, how many niggas’ll run?
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| You said we couldn’t win, bullets in ya flesh, cave in your chest
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| You pulling for breath, I’m claiming your death
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| You shouldn’t’ve stepped
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| War paint on my chest, fatigues green and black
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| The heat reacts
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| To make you bleed like hemophiliacs
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| See me strapped, heavily armed, repetitively
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| Releasing caps 'til the enemy’s gone, definitely
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| My people pack metal for me, let a legend be born
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| I declare war, (What mothafucka!) and it’s on |