| Check it out, check it out
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| I got my whole crew in the house
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| and we gon’turn this house into a home
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| straight up and down
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| I got my man Melo T in the house
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| I got my man Preacher Earl in the house
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| I got my man Asu in the house
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| I got my man Gang Starr in the house
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| and to my brother Smooth B is in the house
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| and I’m Greg N-i-c-e, I’m in the house
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| So peep it I got a shitload of story tales in my sack
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| Please come in, hang your coat on the rag
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| While you at it, make my coffee black
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| So I can get the monkey from off my back
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| 15 cents minus 5 is a dime
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| Sexy young ladies, let’s intertwine
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| Greg N-i-c-e ran it down the line-line
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| I’m the P-r-e-a-c-h-e-r, uh Preacher Earl and I’m considered a superstar
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| Pick up the microphone and I proceed to rock 'n roll
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| By the time I sweat I’m out of control
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| I’m like a locomotive goin express
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| My lyrics written in spraypaint on the wall (ssss…) def
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| I’m from Uptown, I’m a gangster from the projects
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| Either or, take it all, get much respect
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| Destined for fame when I’m goin for mine
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| This, this is how I run it down the line
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| Hey yo, beats, styles, mics I be flashin
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| If you step up step in a orderly fashion
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| See, I collect the dough for the show and then I’m dashin
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| House parties I’m crashin, pool parties I’m splashin
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| Eatin candy yams, drinkin Baby Sham, breakin down (?)
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| Got the masterplan, glance at the Melo stance
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| Arms are crisscrossed, posture rasta
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| When I wanna go to the mall, I need a helicopter
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| Rrrrring — I think that’s my time
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| Yo, (this is how we run it down the line)
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| The biggeda-Bass Blaster with a tongue-twistin rhyme
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| (This is how we run it down the line)
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| Yo, literally, literary literature
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| Six slippery Seals slippin silently ashore
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| Sally sold seashells down by the seashore
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| Sold two shells but couldn’t see to sell no more
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| Beautiful babblin brooks bubba between blossom and banks
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| Brothers above the Brooks take a punch off the plank
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| A big black bug bit a big black bear, bit him on the rear
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| The bear was big but the bug didn’t care, he had no fear
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| How much would could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?
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| Yo, I don’t know, all I know is I say it good
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| Asu, you got the funky, funky rhymes
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| Yo my brother, run it down the line
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| Yo, rhymes is rippin and the mic is passed to me It was too young so they got me for statuatory
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| Don’t take me for granted, punk, yeah, and think I’m worthless
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| Fuck movin mountains I move planets and you’ll be earthless
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| You don’t wanna battle Asu, all I leave is fossils
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| Lethal Weapons Die Harder cause the Mission’s Impossible
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| And my rhymes is riper, I’m ready to come crisper
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| Old jacks know that so they go back and whisper
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| Takin surveys, gettin nervous, I’m just too worthy
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| They can’t stand me and say, «He can’t be from Jersey»
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| Mad, mad response I’m catchin just as soon as I step into the place
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| That’s why a smile’s on my face
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| I got styles that you trace with haste but I’m too deep
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| Lots of the ladies I meet, I must be sweet
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| So I say hold up and wait up and then listen here
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| My rhymes come crisp and clear, but beware
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| My format is all that, my concept’s refined
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| The Gang to the S-t-a-double r shines
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| Chumps be losin it, abusin it, not gainin
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| So there my gain is they vanish while I’m remainin
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| And twice as Nice with a Smooth groove I end my rhyme
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| And yo (this is how we run it down the line)
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| Yeah, lyrical, financial and spiritual
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| A dream of touchin my style would take a miracle
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| You didn’t know how deadly was my flow as I grow
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| And bumrush and crush any foe
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| But I prefer to have a good time when I rhyme
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| But lately I have had to refine and be sublime
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| Cause sometimes some people don’t understand
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| That I’m a man with ambitious plans and I stand to live grand
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| And they fight with all their money invested to hold me back
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| But now I’m featuring the mack pack
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| Smooth B, you know I’m feelin fine
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| (This is how we run it down the line)
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| As I go on the Bass Blaster’s in the house
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| to my man in the house
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| to my man in the house
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| to my man Slick Nick
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| to my man Vance Wright in the house
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| and Premier, you’se a mutha
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| Uhm-uhm |