| Yeah, yeah.
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| It’s a no I.D. |
| legendary Trackster production.
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| Twista…
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| I’m a giant, into astrological science
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| Rappin phenomenal violence,
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| I’m such a honerable tyrant.
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| Verbal telekinesis is cuttin fellas to pieces,
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| Hell of a thesis, but holy like you could tell it’s from Jesus.
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| As good as Pelican Brief is,
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| With the force of a sorcerer, never put fork in a pork,
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| I’m orchestratin the orchestra.
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| Forfit your formula,
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| Cause I’m formin a thesaurus of versus,
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| Or it’s a chorus or more when I smoke a forrest.
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| Super powers like Morphius, Orcious like the orical,
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| Portable mp3 players let you play what’s recordable.
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| Ledgendary like Trackster, not scared to bury a rapper,
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| I’m up for the beef, you just a vegetarian actor.
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| Identification is gone have to go by me cause long as I don’t got no I.D.
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| Victums don’t got no I.V.
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| Intravenously poetry pedeialite I’m a give um,
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| They said it was hot so check the media hype.
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| Most people waiting, no there’s no escaping,
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| The heat.
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| The heat.
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| The heat
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| The heat
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| I recolect the era where terra and recommendations
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| Of wreckin the mic, respect a mack with no hesitation.
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| Meditation or not, I’m givin my praises to Allah,
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| Thoughts of takin shit harder an throwin rocks at the Cahaba.
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| These days is bout the dolla,
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| All of um into ballin, this sounds scannin the cannon
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| You ask if it’s all appallin.
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| All the braggin is saggin an swaggin an sellin drugs,
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| An the thug in tight pants an what happen to yes ya’ll,
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| An, sometimes I can’t help the violence when I kick random rhymes,
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| Make you shut the fuck up like sinuses or pantomimes,
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| Write a autograph for you as if you a fan of mine,
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| Cause I got you trippin off the way my grammar rhyme.
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| Fixation on my dictation is evident I’m benevolent,
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| Cause the flow is elegant, throw like an elephant.
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| They shoulda told um that I flow like petroleum,
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| An I been cold at the podium sense break dancin on linoleum.
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| Most people waiting, no there’s no escaping,
|
| The heat.
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| The heat.
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| The heat.
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| The heat.
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| Coolin with the hustlers eatin rum fish,
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| Guns is crisp,
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| Can’t stand fake niggas an fake bitches.
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| Don’t make me upset my stomach,
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| Them killas will come through the bathroom an tie up yer hunny.
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| I’m all about my coins but fly Donald Goines a rat,
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| Fuck with fly chicken tender loins.
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| You know it, you blow it, you know gotta go,
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| You can’t live here, word to the mamas that’s a no.
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| Surrounded by dons an consularies,
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| Don’t get glarey, a refridgerator might fall.
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| Don’t worry you a good nigga, stay in that zone,
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| You speakin to a rich, real rap nigga,
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| Coolin on his throne. |
| yeah.
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| Kiss yer forehead with lead,
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| I got some Chicago nigga that do it quick fast for some bread.
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| An my lawyer, an african prince,
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| Slid to America with 3 bags of dope in black bags.
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| Most people waiting, no there’s no escaping,
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| The heat.
|
| The heat.
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| The heat.
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| The heat. |