| Bass me, face me, task the tip of a tasty
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| Bitches are sweet as a pastry
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| You don’t know me homey, from a peach or a pony
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| I’m the Only, now your lyrics look lonely
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| Lyrically fortified, born, I’m immortalised
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| Lightin shit up from Wranglers to raw hides
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| Packed with black positivity and wizardry
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| I’m my own body and it built for partyin
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| I rip hearts apart as if it’s my last rap
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| The Lords abroad, and I’m respected as that
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| Shows seniority, lays the foundation
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| Bo knows, and dough knows how I built the Nation
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| Keep the faith tastin, keep the touch clutched
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| Keep your face way away from the rough stuff
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| If it ain’t rough it ain’t rugged
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| Either you are born with none or you’re stacked or star-studded
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| From the intro to end I will flow
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| and aslo, yo come let the ho’s go Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho (Let the ho’s go)
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| Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho Meet my friend Mac 10, sittin backpacked and mackin
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| Thirsty for action, workin and smackin
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| The last of the allies, smoke em up shall I or should I? |
| I’m sure to give it a good try
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| No need for a survival kit, there’s none left to fix
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| They’ve all been blown into dust bits
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| Floatin in space, spinnin in infinity
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| Part of the start is the end of any identity
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| Lost in the source, no cause, so the boss gettin off
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| East, the West, the South, break North
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| You’re about as much use as a guard dog in a graveyard
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| Actin is for actors so you rap but don’t you play hard
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| I got the Mac to wax and I ain’t tryin to fall back
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| I rap like I’m the tops, stay real cos I’m all that
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| It’s my way on a highway, forget your friends
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| Cause I’ll stick that ass like I was stickin a contact lens
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| Let the ho’s go You say you’re hittin hard, huh, I say you’re hardly hittin
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| I grip ya quick like a pussy in a kitten mitten
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| I’m gettin grand and greater, sucker catch ya later
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| He gettin paid with the fade of a Space Invader
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| You lookin Moonstruck, fear, start to talkin tough
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| then sayin sorry like I really give a motherfuck
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| You’re little late, don’t you think that was the wrong approach-a?
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| A sqwuab by the name of Treach is sure to up and smoke ya At anytime, anywhere, for any wanted cause
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| I got a double-barrelled pump that’s sayin Give me yours
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| Then I’ma dash in a flash, duck and go for cover
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| Cause I have warrants for this robbery and many others
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| Another gangster, no I’m like an angry ecker
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| Droppin you and gettin mad if you don’t say Thankyer
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| The clip clockin killers, and plus my county crew
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| I gotta contract for your life, now they’re after you
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| So don’t try ta hide or apologize
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| Apologies and go meet a French eyes is wise
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| So if you know what I mean and have a hot block
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| And never ever seen a day when the money stops
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| You gotta put a fist up just to let me know
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| Ain’t I gotta pump it hard to let the ho’s go Let the ho’s go Competition on canvas, never have I heard the tongue
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| Throw a watch at me without it being fuckin hung
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| Give it a new style, neck him up and keep him learning
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| Should’ve had projects in the days of Mississippi Burning
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| I let her see the white sheet hit the concrete
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| and see that head go off and down from a thousand feet
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| Cos the brother’s around me don’t even play all that
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| They see a sheet and a cross, they say Don’t gimme that!
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| Halloween in Illtown, now don’t you be a ghost
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| Cos you get your broke or even worst smoked
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| Now this rhyme has been called lyrically loco
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| But it had to have the flow to let the ho’s go Let the ho’s go extended |