| One for the money, two for the show
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| Three to get it crackin’in the hood
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| Let’s go!
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| My rhymes pop like them nines, that clammy tote
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| But they rap lackluster shine
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| My shit busts like Busta Rhymes sniffin’lines of coke, «Woo Hah!!»
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| That’s all she wrote
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| On the quest to qualify for these inquisitive «es Quirk ass MC’s be as Queer as Folk
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| Talkin’about, «Nigga can rap»
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| No shit Sherlock, y’all just can’t see me like Matt Murdoch
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| I’m the pinnacle rhyme kid and any line of mine is criminal mind
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| And I blind 'er with original rhyme shit
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| Fall in line with the sick, cynical grime shit
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| Clinically approved for you to move your behind with
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| Timeless are world girls who get inspired with Pharoahe
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| Do you need to be reminded now?
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| Stick 'em up, it’s that
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| Get 'em up, it’s that
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| Put 'em up, it’s that
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| Let’s go!
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| Get up, how we rock
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| Don’t know how we roll, yeah
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| Let’s go!
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| Line 'em up Light it up, fire it up Wire me up, let it blow
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| One for the money, two for the show
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| Three to get it crackin’in the hood
|
| Let’s go!
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| They research my step cells, clone ten of me Send one of 'em back in time just to get rid of me Stop Pharoahe Monch from having verbal epiphanies
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| Now that’s new definition to «your own worst enemy»
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| I glisten man, stop snitching man
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| You use sex to sell, your Nextel to Sprint
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| Everything you represent is immoral
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| Cingular, not plural
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| You and your Sidekick get rid of that whack Trio
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| I freeze MC’s zero degrees below
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| The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice
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| You need to get loose, to the heat of produce
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| From Long Beach to Boston
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| Your chicks text us like Dallas and Austin
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| I spark tireless illumination
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| Fire sixteen bars, wireless communication
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| Let’s go! |