| Doolally, you be acting doolally
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| Too pally pally with them loose scabbies
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| Newsflash, you man are too flashy
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| Who’s dat? |
| It’s your new daddy
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| Oh my lordy, brudda’s tryna stick me for my paper and my glory
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| But no, no, they roar me and applaud me
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| Certain man try stop me cause me flop inside the
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| Yo, lyric a day
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| Wizzy be writing a lyric a day
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| Some of my breddas on minimum wage
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| Some of their breddas are sniffing the K
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| People around me are fondling keys
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| People around me are telling me straight
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| If I was you and I had all the steeze
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| I wouldn’t stop 'til I had all the cake
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| Cake, lyric a day
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| Wizzy be writing a lyric a day
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| If a ting want to see Widdy and Flame
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| They’ll be sticking it in and she limping away
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| 'Cause she give a brilliant brain
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| 'Cause she know that her mans got a brilliant brain
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| And she loves when I spit at a ridiculous pace
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| On a stage and her clit and her tits and her face (Jokes doe)
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| Lyric a day
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| Wizzy be writing a lyric a day
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| All of my mandem are bringing the heat
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| All of your mandem are in a brigade
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| Wettest, sloppiest, bars that I’ve ever seen
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| When you spitting you dousing the flames
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| That’s how my mandem are roaming the street
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| Never missing a beat like we in a parade
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| What’s the meaning of life?
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| Mans pondering on the meaning of life
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| Man wanna tell me 'bout premium price when he’s selling me something that’s not
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| even nice
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| That’s what we need to survive 'cause the selfish intention will lead you to
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| thrive
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| That’s what you need to survive with chicken and rice and peas every night,
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| fam eat like
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| Lyric a day
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| Wizzy be writing a lyric a day
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| Mandem are shook with the hebegebies
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| What you gon' do when I spit in your face
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| Oh, you’ve got a zed of the grade
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| Usually moving 11 a day
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| New management and he turns it into something
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| If you send a complaint I’ll be telling him straight
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| Doolally, you be acting doolally
|
| Too pally pally with them loose scabbies
|
| Newsflash, you man are too flashy
|
| Who’s dat? |
| It’s your new daddy
|
| Oh my lordy, brudda’s tryna stick me for my paper and my glory
|
| But no, no, they roar me and applaud me
|
| Certain man try stop me cause me flop inside the
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| A lot of rappers gassing like they got them lyrics coming
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| I hear their talking and talking but they ain’t saying nothing
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| Flexing like they’re heavy but really they ten a penny
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| My senate is extra messy so allow the unnecessary fraff
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| It’s O Wizzy, Foreign Beggars let’s give 'em a mixture
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| Fellas they getting twisted, we chilling but still get the pick of the litter
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| I’m living it up, feeling the love, these rappers is missing the picture
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| I sip at more than my fill, my bredrins still be swilling the mixer
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| Haha, I deliver like none other
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| I dumbfound these founded clowns with no cover
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| I’m so Satwa, sharmut, fuck your fatwā
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| You might as well assume the position and move it backwards
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| Let me work this ting, wheel up yeah that’s a certain ting
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| Beggars in the mix, bigger than a mil, still on the mish, tryna hurt this ting
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| Manna merk this ting, certain man act like them in this ting
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| But I weren’t listening, not interesting
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| Tryna work this, merk this CD, I’m still learning king
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| Doolally, you be acting doolally
|
| Too pally pally with them loose scabbies
|
| Newsflash, you man are too flashy
|
| Who’s dat? |
| It’s your new daddy
|
| Oh my lordy, brudda’s tryna stick me for my paper and my glory
|
| But no, no, they roar me and applaud me
|
| Certain man try stop me cause me flop inside the
|
| Lyric a day
|
| 'Trop'll be dropping a lyric a day
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| Them man ain’t got nothing but gimmicks, going on with their mimicking ways
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| See most of them live for the fame, I live on a different plain
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| I’ll all about pushing the boundaries, while you stick to the same as if you
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| were sick in the brain
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| Brain, sick of the same, sick of the talk of the game
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| Sick of the picture they paint, they’re sniffing the 'caine
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| They’re flipping a brick and a chain, the triggers like click, click bang
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| And the innocent kids that they claim, the ignorant chick in the Range
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| If she wasn’t stripping, the image of women can change
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| In the eyes of the kids that we raise, raise
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| In the hope that they live out their days
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| Trying to cope at a difficult age where even the youngers are swinging the
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| blade, blade
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| That’s another they stick in a cage, that’s a mother that struggles in vein
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| A father or brother that’s stricken with rage
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| It’s a cycle that never gone break, 'til you’re left in a medical state
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| I ain’t pushing this spread and the hate cause that suffocate the breathe that
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| we take
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| And I know that I’m meant to be great, my heads in the place
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| Seeking the juice that these breddas can’t fake
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| Beggars and Ocean, ahead of the pack
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| When you something on a track you can never replace |