| I am the one they call the G the R the A the P and
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| I didn’t write this it’s come off the top of the dome
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| So what’cha wanna do, and what’cha wanna go home
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| And tell, ya mama
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| That I’m one with all the mad drama
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| Yes I was causing, the movies on 125th St
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| I crossed over honey dip knew it was Harlem Week
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| I was going on the place to be
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| It’s me, the capital rapital G-R-A-P
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| In the place to be with my man Pete Rock &CL Smooth
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| Gots to bust the groove as the people begin to move
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| And get on the dance floor
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| Got to move the funky stinkin' little whores
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| And all the hoods, and all the punks, and all the suckers
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| What the fuck I got stupid motherfuckers
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| On my dick
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| What the fuck I rock the mic so quick
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| With Adolfo, in the place to be
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| And my man Ras is right in back of me
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| Rob-O good to go, I got to f-l-o-w and that spells flow
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| With Chris Ch&, and what’s up I’m bout to get &ed
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| On top of the mic, and I’mma set an exam-ple
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| Girls I pull, I got the honey dips so what’s up my tank is full
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| Of sperm, I’m ready to bust a nut
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| What’s up Pete Rock come get on the cut
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| Rock to beat, get wreck on the regular
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| Listen to me because I cause mass hysteria
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| Peace!
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| The nightcap was exiled, steadily profiled
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| As the underachievin non-believin can’t stand to reason
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| Where’s your daddy boy — to categorize the drinker
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| Misunderstood to make the ordeal linger
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| They label me a problem child who can’t cope
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| Hangin by a thread, yes a very thin rope
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| Inevitably, can never be the man can I tell ya
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| Visualize and memorize him in a cellar
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| Well tally-ho, pip-pip, my fam’s gonna catch a fit
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| My father lookin like he wanna bust my lip
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| But that was never good for my health
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| So I take the shovel out my pocket and dig myself
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| Now when I look at the man in the mirror
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| I see things much more clearer my Lord
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| I’m not that popular, less than a dollar
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| But the pengo I pack can make you holla
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| I said, what you don’t know could make a whole new world
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| Man… listen! |
| I’m set to sabotage premonition
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| Your propaganda, crooked type of version
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| Some of the things I bring, you’re babblin non-person
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| Imbedded in my character, rebel nostalgia
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| Uncommon valor who’d rather
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| Have no man-made religion or sect
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| But try to believe what you conceive may be half correct
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| I shed light, to show the path in sight
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| Cause a man who can’t treat you right can’t teach you right
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| In front of your eyes, what a surprise, and let the nature rise
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| Just for the girls and the guys
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| A Phi-Slamma-Jamma when you wear a bandanna
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| Peace to Pop Dukes, and long live Nana
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| The formula’s reality, Pete Rock’s the storm
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| Together, forever, yes G we got it goin on
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| Internal affairs, flippin Hollywood Squares
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| In search of the Mecca many travel in pairs
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| Off the slave ship to Sodom and Gomorrah
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| To support a short order when I freak it on a corner
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| Five-oh cruisin, decide to pull you over
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| Beefin, «Where's the Coke?"I said, «A six-pack of soda?»
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| The rookie’s lookin thirsty, but everything’s mental
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| A baseball bat, to smack Shirley in the Temple
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| Agreed to meet the maker so I yelled Hail Mary’s
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| And flew that head, to hit The House on the Prairie
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| But the past can never choose my future correctly
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| I found a greater source directly
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| On and on, keep it on, you chant the
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| Boppin simonized, pullin you clockwise jammie
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| To quickly skip the minimal tip, I dap for the wise I dip
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| Can anyone see, phenomenally, to the last degree?
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| I capitalize subliminally, wreck for positivity
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| Yes my little chickadee, ready to flow with me
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| Nevertheless I bless, follow me and see
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| Predominantly, CL’ll be, All in the Family
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| God bless Marky Black, know we go way back
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| The lyrics I pack is like a needle in the haystack
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| CL and Pete Rock, smooth like Dom Perignon
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| Never torn, word is bond, we got it goin on |