| Paris is my name, I flows with ease
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| Cash checks, breaks necks and wrecks MC’s
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| Who ain’t down with the sound of the Panther Movement
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| Intense is a serious answer
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| The mic goes into labor you freeze up
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| Enveloped by the style that sounds so ROUGH
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| Rehearsal weak verses potent as cyanide
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| A million and a half shot keepin you high
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| But I don’t sell cause what you’re sellin is never sold
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| Or dealed by the REAL mack brothers of old
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| Naw, I just devise a wise new formula
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| To keep you in tune without sellin my soul
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| In 1930, it all began
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| With a movement comprised of intelligent black men
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| Led by Allah in the form of Farad
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| But later by the last true prophet of God
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| Elijah, Muhammad, a dominant black leader
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| Of The Lost/Found Asiatic Pack
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| And later by Malcolm, whose point was straight
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| Stressing a black nationalistic state
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| Of self-sufficiency on a mission he
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| Stressed thrift and pride and good sense
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| Killed in cold blood but the shit ain’t done with
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| Switch to Oaktown, '66
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| See Huey Newton, and Cleveland Seale
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| Sons of Malcolm with intent to kill
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| And end the brutality inflicted on us by cops
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| Best believe I won’t stop
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| Teachin science in step with Farrakhan
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| Drop a dope bomb, word to Islam
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| Keeps my brothers up on it cause I’m black
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| And now you know, I’m BRUTAL
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| (explosion)
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| Callin' all brothers to order, P-Dog'll slaughter
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| Stomp rip and choke those who thought a
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| Young black man wasn’t capable of the intellect
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| Of gainin' respect, without sellin', so check
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| I’m Paris, six feet two, deadly as ice
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| But twice as nice with, the power to fight boy
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| So listen I’m tellin' y’all, the warnin', the Final Call
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| We’re headin, for Armageddon, it’s like that
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| The government’s policy see, is tactical genocide
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| How many must die chasin a chemical high?
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| How much killin and murderin mayhem more can we stand
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| Before we fold, black man, so take a stand
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| Listen up drug dealer, whassup with that?
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| Hope I don’t bust a cap, straight in your MOTHERFUCKIN ass
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| For pushin' poison to youth, I’m through with talkin' I’m steppin' up
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| With gat point blank at your motherfuckin' mug
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| I’m P-R-O, B-L-A-C-K
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| Stompin' and crushin' to mush, any lush, in my way
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| I’m educated and strong, always right and no wrong
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| With many bullets of a Bensonhurst, come on along
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| It’s like that y’all, and I won’t QUIT
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| Keepin' y’all fresh on the movement tip
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| With F.O.I. |
| at my side, we’re never slippin' or nap
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| We always come sick with it, bustin' serious caps
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| There’s no, bullshit, and yo look, this is the danger zone
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| You shouldn’t have stepped to it, you shouldn’t have come alone
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| You shouldn’t have ever thought, the movement was soft
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| Don’t you know P-Dog'll never stop
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| I’m BRUTAL! |