| Let’s go!
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| Space Pyscho Realm shit
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| I know ya’ll hating!
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| Soy un boxeador de la calle, tira y no falles
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| Puede ser que mi veneno te desmaye
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| Lo de vivir en la calle es el detalle para hacerlo como yo
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| Para hacerlo como yo será mejor que ensayes
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| Yo, I called Sick Jacken and told that nigga I’m sick of rapping
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| He told me to find all the hatahs plan and get the clapping
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| I’m sick of yapping I told Cynic let’s get the mashing
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| We on the flight to LA squeaking in the ratchets
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| Security on me like its 9/11, you betta find the Reverend
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| Call your fam up and try to find a blessing
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| No time for stressing only maculate versions
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| You niggas bitching put your tampons back in your purses
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| Shit, if Psycho betta buck down we matching the wages
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| We collide wit the unit and put it back in your faces
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| Nigga, back to the basics, I’m lacing my Chuck Taylors
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| Who proposed to the game, now I’m getting my tux tailored
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| I treat every stage like the Garden of Eden
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| I’m the serpent in the trees that’ll stop you from breathing
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| The vocal, pato loco from Illadel to Acapulco
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| The local is locked; |
| time to lick a shot to rock the global
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| And I read the puto thru my recital it’s suicidal
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| Accu cycle banks so heavy that we ruin idols
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| And I ain’t fucking wit this new arrivals
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| Man I been leaking off and on since the days of the unit rhinos
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| You rival the pussy I’m cocky they push me
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| I’m vynl who said, there ain’t no future for minor whino
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| I wanna leave shit stained in the rap game
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| So I got a sick as clique wit the wrath of Kane
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| You know the name Psycho’s run it like its nutting mayne
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| Where the million bald heads looking like fucking gangs
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| Worldwide symphony killing spree wit a guillotine
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| The shit is getting sick after clicking up wit the Philly team
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| My heroin rap keeps stem going back for the trap
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| I tap a vein, Jacks is the insane brain of the camp
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| We run shit like when Hussein reigned
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| It’s the art of execution and we shoot you sane
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| Yeah, you can still catch me out in the streets, blazed up
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| You know we deep and keep running them up
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| I try to chill so we put the guns down
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| But the streets got us by the balls
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| Shit, it’s hard not to gun out
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| Police keep hunting us down, they after me
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| Fucking swine, they ain’t got nutting to offer me
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| We pirates in all black, bagged wit big gats
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| If they want some we can leave 'em rightfully stance
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| So that’s what the fucks up (What's that?)
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| I keep wilding like I don’t travel about the world getting my cocked sucked
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| I try to cool out, my goons go out, they repping that shit
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| The SS gun and burn down the house, take ova the place
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| We here for good, the shit could get scary
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| Like 2012 we just ain’t ready
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| We all need to learn not sit around ready to die
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| Fuck that, we gonna replenish the Earth
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| We spit a venomous verse your head will just burst
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| From Pekoe to Puerto Rico we protecting our turf
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| So be easy you’re dealing wit Made-men
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| Who do dirt dolo and lyrically spray gems
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| Digital mayhem thru the G-5 and monitors
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| Rhyme writ, hieroglyph you can’t follow 'em
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| Mind spit designed sick, I start marketing
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| Mic booth set on fire, who let the arson in?
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| Your man got a froggy feeling you betta talk to 'em
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| Pipe bomb filled wit glass to leave 'em sparkling
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| Right psalms build to last watch me inside of them
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| Vomiting, street crash you faggots modeling
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| You run way bitch, walk I keep 'em wobbling
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| That gun play let you talk who keeps you swallowing
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| Blood mugs filled to the top it don’t belong to him
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| That’s why they’re raising their arms singing the song wit him |