| Yeah we tease him a lot, cause we got him on the spot
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| Welcome back. |
| welcome back, welcome back, welcome back.
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| What! |
| What! |
| What! |
| What!
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| Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (C'mon)
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| What! |
| What! |
| What! |
| What!
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| Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (C'mon)
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| Aiyyo, who slam harder? |
| Onyx, or Vince Carter? |
| (ONYX!)
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| All my thugs gettin dollars (Uh-Oh! Uh-Oh!)
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| All my ladies just holla (Uh-Oh! Uh-Oh! Uh-Oh!)
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| Slam Harder!
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| What! |
| What! |
| What! |
| What!
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| Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (C'mon)
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| Aiyyo we back in the e-zay
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| The game is over, it’s a rap
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| It’s a ree-zay, straight like dat
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| It’s a good look, we put, hardcore on the map
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| Ten years to be exact, still throwin up gats
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| See a thug on the TV, and chicks dig that
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| But we rap for them streets where them thugs play at
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| So «Bacdafucup,"comin' through, comin through, get ya «SLAM"on
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| Y’all the hardest niggas in rap, ya dead wrong
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| Y’all the niggas sittin on 20's with no gas money
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| Y’all niggas think you shinin like Puff, who got money?
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| Like you really pop shots in the club
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| You only pop bottles of bub'
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| Y’all ain’t got no real street love
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| To the death, to the ghetto, my kids with heavy metal
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| On the everyday hustle, never ready to settle, uh
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| Back together, with the, classic terror
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| Onyx, back forever, bustin', gats together, WHAT!
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| What! |
| What! |
| What! |
| What!
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| Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (C'mon)
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| What! |
| What! |
| What! |
| What!
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| Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (C'mon)
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| Bigger than the streets' anthems, you stealin' the flow
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| Reppin' other people’s money and we takin' ya dough
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| My killas the grimiest, we keep it the gulliest
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| We leave you the bloodiest, cause we be the hungriest
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| (GRRRRRRR) Hear that? |
| Hunger pains
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| That’s the things that’ll numb your brain, run ya change
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| It’s not a threat, it’s a promise
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| I even got my St. Louis niggas SLAMMIN haters offa Onyx
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| What! |
| What! |
| What! |
| What!
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| Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (C'mon)
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| What! |
| What! |
| What! |
| What!
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| Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (C'mon)
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| You wanna know the truth? |
| Take a look in my eye
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| I’m like B.I.G.'s first album, I’m «Ready to Die»
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| It’s Sticky Fingaz, if you didn’t already know who I am
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| The minute I reached out and touched the whole hood with no hands
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| Cause in the streets I live through it, it’s more than music
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| Whatever I’m spittin' on, I put my life into it
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| Got a reputation on the streets of keepin' it rough
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| There’s just too many of us, you get rushed, you get bust — what!
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| Big trucks, chrome rims spinnin'
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| The mad faced niggas got money so now we grinnin'
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| Pull your sticks out, we the group you listen to, kid!
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| Niggas told me my music helped em' through they bid
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| I’m the voice of the ghetto, the heart of New York
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| A fiend will give his last hit, just to hear me talk
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| Niggas paid for their mistakes, death is the price
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| That’s right motherfucka, Onyx for life!
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| What! |
| What! |
| What! |
| What!
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| Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (C'mon)
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| What! |
| What! |
| What! |
| What!
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| Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (C'mon)
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| What! |
| What! |
| What! |
| What!
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| Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (What!) Yeah! |
| (C'mon) |