| Grimy thug shit
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| The fuck you up shit…
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| For all the peeps in the crud with morphine in their blood
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| Peep me, reach inside my movie — pull a scene from the mud
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| Son, you dreaming you’re thug, we’ll hit your team with the scud
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| Missile, this’ll fuck your pistol — laser beam in your jug
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| You’re fuckin' with the wrong crew, son, our demons will haunt you
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| Psycho+Logical cats’ll blow a shot through your caps
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| Known for rockin' an axe, a lent you a sledge
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| We decapitate heads and hide 'em under our beds
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| Instead of shootin' Glocks, put to use my toolbox
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| Pick up Phillips screw drivers
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| Stick and drillin' through visors
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| Hit like Brock Marion, you more like Maid Marian
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| Best use your brain savvy vs a cat that’s blade-carryin'
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| The grimiest thugs; |
| we’ll rob the lint out your pants
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| Then won’t deny to draw blood and leave your limbs in a cast
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| And if you keep testin' me you’ll meet the recipe of treachery
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| Greeted by the Reaper, seek your bleed-destiny
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| The belligerent Brooklyn-born and bred, thugged-out sicko
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| With hatred for life ambitious for change and pistols
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| Death Rap ambassador, the master of duckets
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| I’ll fulfill my goals, even if I must kill — fuck it
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| Brutal 'til the day that I die
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| A representative of imperative heritage in hip hop forever lives in Me through
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| the concrete streets where ex-cons meet
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| Is where I grew up, you can’t it away from me
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| Not much matters if blowin' up ain’t part of it
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| I started out doing it for the art of it
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| Now I’m tryin' to get my part of it: piece of it
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| There’s enough of it to go around without changin' our shit
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| We could keep it sick
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| Necro — the general of morbid;
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| Monarch of macabre metaphors, just meditate and absorb it
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| The medicine that keeps me alive — my fan base
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| Goin' through withdraw for heroin cause they can’t wait |