| You should never in your wildest dreams shit on a nigga
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| Police eat a dick, straight up, you know why? |
| Clap!
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| Clap on, clap off
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| Clap at them and I do not mean applause
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| Rap nicer than Santa with no Claus
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| Track twice as bananas with no chorus
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| Uh, yeah, it’s suicide murder
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| In the hood like catalytic converters
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| On the block like Lego
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| In the streets like street light
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| Three Little Pigs is what I be on these beats like
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| In other words the police, say it, say it like Pac: «the Po-Lice»
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| Fuck' em, and that’s straight from the underground
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| Where little kids got it bad cause we brown
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| Now who am I? |
| P-Monch, from Do or Die, South Suicide, Queens, where I get down
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| I peep surveillance in the street every summer
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| You may not play lotto, but you know these numbers
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| The 105th, the 103rd
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| My peoples in Queens doing 13 if we get the urge to get on some Todd Scott shit
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| My brains a Glock clip
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| My lames be on some 1−800-COPSHOT shit
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| Say we were gonna, say we were gonna get it together, yeah, yeah, yeah
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| One day, one day, one day, one day, one day I said the people gon' clap!
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| Watch me clap to this!
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| We went from niggas to porch monkeys, to negroes, to blacks, back to niggas
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| again
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| Yet niggas is still hungry
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| Abolish the N-word, the plan’s so corny
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| While homeland security cams are all on me
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| They watch through the fiber optics
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| It dawned on me that cops can just run in your spot quick without warning
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| They educate the masses to follow, it’s so boring
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| I sat in the back of class, asleep, snoring
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| And they ask me why I’m vocal and adamant
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| Cause I lost my focus like governor Patterson
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| And the ghetto is impossible to escape
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| And the first obstacle is this tapeworm in my abdomen
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| Spear-chucker, fuck that, I toss javelins and $ 5,000 bills in the face of James
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| Madison
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| This is an American post mortem, to focus on you bogus, Novus Ordo Seclorum,
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| clap!
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| Say we were gonna, say we were gonna get it together, yeah, yeah, yeah
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| One day, one day, one day, one day, one day I said the people gon' clap!
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| Watch me clap to this!
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| Now everybody watch me clap! |
| clap!
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| Now everybody just-
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| No respect, no manners, it’s Mad Max with multiple macs
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| Mad banana clips, and a black hammer that hits the back of a black talon
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| A slew of hollow tips through the wall of your blue silence
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| And selective theatrics, collective dramatics
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| I’m systematically pissed, clap automatic for Mumia Abu Jamal
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| Maybe I’m Crispus Attucks, P’s a fanatic for peace, but you angered a pacifist
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| The Gospel, I spit it like Jesus of Nazareth and then emphatically clap
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| At any obstacle, an impossible feat, the fathom is not logical
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| But chronicle the thought of the people cause on day we gon' clap! |