| (I'm glad you all made it to my show
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| By the way:? |
| music is in the house
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| Understandin' microphone mathematics
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| It’s Lord Quas droppin' shit like some horses
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| Imitatin' your mindstate have you split like divorces
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| The new breed fuckin' up the mainstream
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| Plus we gon' gain cream
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| Keep doin' the same thing
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| Elevatin' styles beyond explication
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| Turned up the notch increase the amplification
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| Madlib got ya bumpin' in your upper story
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| While I drop the microphone mathematics
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| Like when I used to smack chicks
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| It’s like some people ain’t got no mental sight
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| You try keepin' it real
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| (yet you should try keepin' it right
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| It’s understandin' microphone mathematics) x4
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| Quas, drop that number thing
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| I got five brothers we lived up on 9th street
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| On the 22nd of December
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| My pops shot 6 cops, I remember
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| In the 12th grade thinkin' about million dollar riches
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| On the 3−4, I broke about a dozen mics
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| On the 1, 2s, I took out a hundred crews
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| 365 days to a year, subtract it off your life
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| In 2000, that’s the end of strife
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| It’s like some people ain’t got no mental sight
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| You try keepin' it real (yet you should try keepin' it right)
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| (it's understandin' microphone mathematics) |