| Get the fuck up
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| Simon says, "Get the fuck up"
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| Throw your hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)
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| Queens is in the back sipping 'gnac, y'all, what's up?
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| Girls, rub on your titties
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| Yeah, fuck it, I said it rub on your titties
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| New York City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty
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| In the midst of the calm, the witty
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| Yo, shut the fuck up
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| Luck said, "Shut the fuck up"
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| Bitches in the back like crack, get it cut up
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| I speak on behalf of them broads you call stuck up
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| Act like a man and get cocked, smacked the fuck up
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| Pull the truck up, Luck, you know the name
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| Ass out in the bleachers stay shitting on the game
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| I suppose what you're spitting is flames, cowards
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| Knew your crew was vaginal, I could smell the douche powder
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| Summer's Eve, I drop degrees chill
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| Come four by four, lose one like Dru Hill
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| Stay fly till you get airsick, now that's ill
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| Two choices, either squeeze or peel, now that's real
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| What the fuck's going on here? |
| Just a minute now, hold up
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| Sinister with it, the time, I diminish him, finish him, roll up
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| When I'm in a cinematography state of mind
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| My rap trip, rip, flip, clip, say the rhyme
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| Shit, I spectacular run, hit spit bitches vernacular
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| Miraculous rhyme flow, back track to the immaculate
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| Binaca blast nigga that's fast, son, I'll out-box you
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| Ladies rub the ta-tas, bras, titties and knockers on the floor
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| Oww! |
| Fellas, pull your cock out
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| On the verge to splurge verbs for third-round knock-out
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| Uh, I bust a rhyme that dust frustrated rappers
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| Dust crush competition, lights out like the Clapper
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| The mic ripper, whip a nigga like a slave
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| Separate him from him from his fam
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| He don't know how to behave now
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| Drag his ass, bag dun for his loot
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| Figure me to give a nigga-y twenty-one gun salute
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| That's seven shots for 2Pac, seven for Biggie Smalls
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| Seven for Freaky Tah up in your neighborhood malls
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| How's that? |
| Fat action packed rap remain tame
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| Pharoahe fuckin' Monch, ain't a damn thing changed
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| Yo, yo, get the fuck up
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| Funk Doctor Spock said, "Get the fuck up"
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| I got a bitch named Nina and I tuck her
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| I leave a nigga hanging like your mom's muffler
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| Snuff her, then my boys follow up
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| Respect like The Fonz, you see the collar up (Ayeeee)
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| I spit out a bullet, load the barrel up
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| I kamikaze your town off a Arab bus
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| Karat cut, yeah mami, pull over
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| I bend your pussy like for years I knew yoga
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| I'm too smoked up, I can't remember me
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| Off Hennessy, that's why I carry Mini-Me
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| I need fifty feet when my performance starts
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| I push an armored car with Lowenharts
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| Nineteen inches, I'm not on the charts
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| Doc turning dark off a warning shot
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| Drive off and pop, six in your hood
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| Fuck the limelight, we rhyme tight, plus snatch the goods
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| Yeah, yeah, my nigga, one rhyme and you fold over
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| I'm hot-headed 'cause I walk with cold shoulders
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| Yeah, get the fuck up
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| Simon says, "Get the fuck up"
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| Throw ya hands in the sky (Bo-bo-bo-bo-bo)
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| Jersey in the back, jacking cars, now what's up?
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| Girls, rub on your titties (Yeah)
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| That's right, I said it, rub on your titties
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| Brick City gritty committee pity the fool that act shitty
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| In the midst of the calm, the witty
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| Yo, yo, get the fuck up
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| Yo, yeah, I said it, "Get the fuck up"
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| Walk through Shaolin after dark, you get stuck up
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| Seek and destroy, baddest boy when I'm puffed up
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| You know my name and Pharoahe Monch, why we came, what?
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| We off the chain, plus we plotting on the game, what?
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| Know your role, by the way, tuck your gold
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| And you and your mic can ease on down the road
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| Assholes are like opinions, everybody got to have one
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| Shooting in the sky trying to blast sun
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| Zero to sixty in a second, pull a fast one
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| Fifty cent flashin', they hate us with a passion
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| Mashin', still fresh in three-day old fashion
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| You're plaid, I'm stripes, together we be clashin'
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| Here's a Tunnel banger
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| Wu-Tang death penalty, the gas chamber
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| This gon' hurt me more than it hurts you
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| Slap you like the doctor the day your momma birthed you
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| Just so you can feel me the same way I'ma feel this world when it kill me
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| Even if time stands still, I'mma still be
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| Underground and filthy, gotta have our way like the Milky |
| Innocent until I'm proven guilty
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| Never got caught in the game of tag
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| Momma never kept a boyfriend with kids this bad
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| No justice, raider ruckus
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| Underground 'til we under ground
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| But y'all first, motherfuckers
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| My thugs, throw up your set
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| And shorties rub on your breasts
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| Get the fuck up out of that dress, I palm tits
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| You herbs get flipped like Jeeps on mountain cliffs
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| I'll rip through your chest, hollow-point talon tips
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| Double-S, double the threat, double your bet
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| Double up on that cash if you decide to invest
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| You sound like B.I.G., you sound like Jay, you sound like D
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| And I bet when I go plat, you'll sound like me
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| Shabaam Sahdeeq, injure your fleet, instant delete
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| Y'all crabs are weak, frail like a fiend's physique
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| I stay on the street, stay on the beat, stay with the heat
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| Stay sticking fools like you for the rocks that gleam
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| So toss that link, dummy, should've insured that link
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| Straight to Canal, appraise that link, then pawn that link
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| You froze up, Sahdeeq says, "Shut the fuck up"
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| Punk niggas get gun-butt up and tied up
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| Busta Rhymes is like Hacksaw Jim Duggan
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| Been thuggin', lovin' the way we flood jewels for nothin'
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| Lay it over, another ambush and take over
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| Yo, we don't only get money, we cut the coke and cook the shake over
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| You better guard your head right, especially if it's late at night
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| Or find your picture of your autopsy up on the website
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| Yo, if you ever violate my space
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| Fuck a fat lip, I'll leave you with a fucking fat face, nigga
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| Busta Rhymes the handsome, I'll hold you for ransom and some
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| Like the ghost of a haunted house, I'll forever live in a mansion
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| Bitches, snitches coming out and you know who's showing it
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| Like when the British civil servants pass secrets to the Soviets
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| Y'all niggas is seamless blends of seamless friends
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| Lip on about the results of a bunch of seamless ends
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| Colossal, me and my nigga Pharoahe Monch-o
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| The head honchos, getting this money like Leonardo (Do-do-do-do)
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| Enough substance in the roughness
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| Now watch it come around in an amazing large abundance
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| Now let me clear the smoke screen you blow, fiend
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| Live nigga shit that'll rebuild your whole self-esteem
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| Pledge allegiance to the flag of united live niggas of America
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| Let us control and own the fucking area
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| Wilding in your whip until you crash the whole truck up
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| And if you know what's good for you, nigga
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| You better get the fuck up |