| Yo, unfold remarkable soul, cold-blooded
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| bleedin icicles, equivalent to North Pole
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| Roll El-Producto style, buddha mindstate
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| but I don’t smoke weed to proceed, follow my lead
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| I Rock-well when Somebody’s Watchin Me, rhymes fine
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| like Denzel, havin shorties all jockin me My poetry paintin pictures, call me Picasso
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| Not so fast, put your microphone back in the stash
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| When I’m through foes with hoes, take what fits
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| You ain’t worth what O.C. |
| hold, dick made of gold
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| Soul controller, ruler of my dest', all eyes on me like a pair of thirty-eight double-D's, rest assured
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| When I be on the mic, WAR, holdin the goods
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| like you buyin in the surplus store
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| You see I brought it down a notch so you could understand O
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| I’m smooth like a harp you, nothin but a banjo
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| So advance yo’tech-nine style, flipped off
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| Run into the likes of a Mongol slave
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| Fallout, the Gene-ral, be on command now
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| At the corner of the century, I’m the enchanted child
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| Fuck That abbreviated F.T., soon to come bust off
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| we bust back strapped ready for war
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| Chorus: Street Smartz
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| You when you hear this shit I bet your head’ll swing
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| cause this a ghetto thing, where we pack metal thangz
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| just to settle thangz
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| Get your motherfuckin orders of protection, MC’s no question
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| See I was raised in the ill drug section
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| and that persuaded my poetical selections to be hardcore…
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| shit, I swore on my father’s grave
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| I make slaves of niggaz who played brave
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| I craved to engrave my name inside of the pavement
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| and my basement’s an arrangement of different torture devices
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| that slices, the first emcee who thinks they are the nicest
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| My advice is to you, think twice
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| The price to pay is your life, Jesus Christ I am the Pharoahe
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| The road I’m on is kind of narrow
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| Plus there’s a fork in the shit and I don’t know which way to go But these scriptures are sculptures, to prove to dead rappers
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| Words hover above like vultures
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| I write the type of shit to make niggaz incite race riots
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| from the hate that white invited
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| Sinister, when it’s the time to, finish the rhyme
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| watch the, minister climb up up, fillin in the atmosphere
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| like canibus and if it’s activatin me believe I’m captivatin heat
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| plus I’m decapitatin three MC’s with my axe like thoraxes
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| Practice allows me to receive information like faxes, what.
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| Niggaz you better watch your back
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| It takes concentration and confrontation
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| So fuck conversatin and contemplatin
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| Arms I’m brakin, spin a battle wild like a carousel
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| cause new MC’s babble now especially when I have an L These raps is meant to fear yo I’ma rip this sentence here
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| My comprehension scares to leave you in intensive care
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| Check my credentials, with pen and pencils, or instrumentals
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| I make your mental, experimental
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| Don’t be actin cock-a-mamey cause niggaz on my block is crazy
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| Talkin that rap shit, you couldn’t even rock a baby
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| Bitch I went out and bought a rifle (why?)
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| cause that’s just more than trifle
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| I’m sorta psycho like a retard on a motorcycle
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| My mind changes when the time changes
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| An MC that ain’t sayin shit might as well be rappin in sign language
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| I get darkened eyed, when I spark the lye
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| Start stompin guys, have em screamin, «Let's compromise!»
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| And love a fly brawl so why stall
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| Keep lookin at me I’ma spray some Lysol in your eyeball…
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| Street Smartz… affiliation |