| Yo. |
| It’s Vinnie Paz baby my man Panik on the track! |
| NAMEAN! |
| NAMEAN!
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| I’m bout to take yall to war. |
| Teach yall how to rhyme. |
| Check it out
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| YO YO
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| We heavenly divine, thats why we steadily shine
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| And put a steel mic through a enemy spine
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| My voice got power like if ten of me rhyme
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| And gettin in my face means its weaponry time
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| Look at you, studyin my every design
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| Bangin this, listening to every rhyme
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| Heavy rewind, Vinnie Paz’ll fight vicious
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| Yall easier to fuck with than white bitches
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| We nice with this, yall better stand still
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| Musta forget the fact Hologram ill
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| I doubt yall, Vinnie Paz the outlaw
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| Yall mafuckas is never right like southpaws
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| Thats why I doubt yall, yall ain’t raw
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| Rippin you with a 45 caliber claw!
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| You wanna see the last kid i battled before?
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| Then check his fuckin brain where I splattered the wall
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| Hook (2x):
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| RAW IS WAR! |
| YALL BETTER PRAY FOR ARMAGEDDON!
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| YALL SPILL BLOOD ON SLUGS FROM ALL WEAPONS!
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| VINNIE PAZ! |
| I’M LIKE THE LORD’s RESURRECTION!
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| IT’S ALL ENDING! |
| SO BRING THE GOD WHEN I STEP IN!
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| You’re forced to fight, when I’m scorching the mic
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| My source of light. |
| *holy* like the corpse of Christ
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| You lost your life, and I’m the sorceror right?
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| And Vinnie Paz rhyme have you lost in the light
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| What? |
| yall mafuckas think you flossin tonight?
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| Gimme that! |
| matter of fact, toss me your ice
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| But still, my clique is too ill
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| And yall? |
| yall more bitch than Dru Hill
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| The true skill that come through me
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| Is from banging «All Hell Freeze» by Cool C
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| Yall dont move me, yall at war with the veteran
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| With the digital trigger finger like the letterman
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| The vendetta gram, I know where my heart’s at
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| I’m the better man, so dont start that
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| When we bomb back. |
| BURN FUCKIN LEECHES
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| Send you to hell to see more shells than beaches
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| We elitists, we from Hamburger Hill
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| Science and math combined with supreme skill
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| The team ill, we send you to hell fast
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| Your cream build, you buried in Belfast
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| Ayo Panik! |
| pass me the gin!
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| 'cuz ain’t too much muthafuckers rockin with Vin!
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| Stomp him with tims, 'cuz I heard he hate hell
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| The last thing that he saw? |
| a .38 shell |