| Introducing the Mecca fusion, physical type of funk using
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| Carmel cruising brother, your latest lover smothered for deeper cover
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| Ass blown to breaks, individualized the fakes
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| Just because you’re pouring syrup on this don’t make it pancakes
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| My vocal assaults kept bouncing many amounts that count slackness
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| Pete Rock’s sounds of blackness
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| The dark gauges the flavor I supply
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| Now it’s do or die, others are rolling the chocolate thai
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| I rip holes in sows, then move flocks of foes in straight
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| The Devil will find a way to infiltrate, never pray
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| I hear the scandal that be couped up in my town
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| So now we «Gotta Get Away"like Bobby Brown
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| The women will call it two letters that are instrumental
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| I focus my eyesight and run it down your genitals
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| Another dame when I tear it out the frame
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| Then armageddon came, it’s not a game, it’s on
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| It’s not a game, no, with the Pete Rock funk
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| When the kids up in the Vernon got the flavor
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| It’s not a game, no, with the Mecca Don flow
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| When the kids up in the Vernon got the flavor
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| It’s not a game, no, with the Pete Rock funk
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| When the kids up in the Vernon got the flavor
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| It’s not a game, no, with the Mecca Don flow
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| When the kids up in the Vernon got the flavor
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| It’s not a game when the Mecca Kane lucifer knows your name
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| Now I think I’m on the break of black male growing extinct
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| Now my survival they label the label homicidal
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| My spirits aren’t idle, now you put your hands on the Bible
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| Now the opposite of my God is Nimrod
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| Taught by Master Fard, hard, now I’m pulling your card
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| We travel, unravel, dabble in the dopeness
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| A jam that make you want to know who wrote this
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| A scripture from an odyssey, brothers in high velocity
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| And just like BDP, you know «My Philsophy»
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| Yeah here to outlast it, to never see the casket
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| My flute can make a snake rise up from the basket
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| So Pete Rock here we go, master the flow
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| (I don’t want to be the last to know)
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| With the mellow funk tunes arriving with the card trainer plain
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| The black House of Pain, it’s not a game, it’s on
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| It’s not a game, no, with the Pete Rock funk
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| When the kids up in the Vernon got the flavor
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| It’s not a game, no, with the Mecca Don flow
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| When the kids up in the Vernon got the flavor (Repeat 2x)
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| The lucci’s mine like the summertime, and I’m a set it first
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| You leaving a hearse when my third verse loads up to burst
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| To blast, never to trespass, going to funk, keeping the crowd touring
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| The lyric is born on any stage we’re walking on
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| So non-believer meet the Mecca, be chopping 'em like a meat cleaver
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| The scrambling quarterback, you know my the wide receiver
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| I get past you, and when it becomes a war
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| I go hardcore, matador, then all the bull is on the floor
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| I look and find the level of crime the time that I decipher
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| I’m bagging any sniper put a ball in Peter’s Piper
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| We made the album of the year, remember the Source kicks?
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| We should have been larger but it’s all politics
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| So (Why you wanna, uh huh, play your games on me?)
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| Cause you called me a factor, get your skully cracked
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| The truth is coming to take mine
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| You want to take away more stitches than a Frankenstein
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| In '93 me and the P.R. make the dough
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| The honeys are licking all over my 5 o’clock shadow
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| A menace to society, the pistol-packing YG
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| Mecca’s the name, it’s not a game, so don’t try me
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| It’s not a game, no, with the Pete Rock funk
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| When the kids up in the Vernon got the flavor
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| It’s not a game, no, with the Mecca Don flow
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| When the kids up in the Vernon got the flavor
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| It’s not a game, no, with the Pete Rock funk
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| When the kids up in the Vernon got the flavor
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| It’s not a game, no, with the Mecca Don flow
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| When the kids up in the Vernon got the flavor |