| Yeah
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| It’s the paragraph ambassador
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| The wild style fashioner
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| It’s the god Rakim, the master
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| Feel this
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| (1st verse)
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| This is that lost ass track off-the-rack kind of a track
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| You forced to rap, remember that? |
| It’s that
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| You know where I’m at, there go the gat
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| Pass me a bat, the kill-or-be-killed kind of attack
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| Steamin'___, speedin’navigatin’the map
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| Negotiating with a chick, she got her head on your lap, ya hand on your gat
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| Premeditated plan of attack, with two of your most deadliest mens in the back
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| Comb the block, stop in the zone that’s hot
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| Get out like you own the spot, home or not
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| It’s that no mood to play, move out the my way
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| Yo, I been whistlin’this tune from throughout the day
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| Hey, yo, this is that ol’y’all niggas don’t wanna battle
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| Turn it up loud make the whole block rattle
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| Boom boom- this one is gettin’blazin’hot
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| Boom boom- make you bust another shot from the Glock
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| From the streets below to everything above
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| To the heart that pumps Ra-kim Allah’s blood
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| I swear I kick a hole in your speaker and pull the plug
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| You emcee’s is playing tug-a-war with your tongues
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| From the streets beneath my feet to the sun
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| I’m number one and competition is still none
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| And I’m gonna keep kicking holes in your speakers and pullin’plugs
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| You emcee’s is playing tug-a-war with your tongues
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| (2nd verse)
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| Here we come now
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| Turntable spin like a merry-go-round
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| Never slow down, depending on how good your stereo sounds
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| Set it, up in the hood where we go surround
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| Tearin’through towns, turn 'em into burial grounds
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| This is the track that made Theodore wanna scratch
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| The track that caused the first kid to spin on his back
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| And then we saw, kids spray-painting the wall
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| While some of y’all was waitin’for war breakin’the law
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| It’s no antidote it’s what you can’t provoke
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| So just relax with your girls or your mans and smoke
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| And take a real hit, soon as it bang you feel quick
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| It’s real thick, this is that ol’real shit
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| This is the description of designs for you to listen to Reminiscin’the times and nothin’in particular
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| Keep you goin’just like a whole pot of coffee
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| Have you and your shorty doin'80 in a 40
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| From the streets below to everything above
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| To the heart that pumps Ra-kim Allah’s blood
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| I swear I kick a hole in your speaker and pull the plug
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| You emcee’s is playing tug-a-war with your tongues
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| From the streets beneath my feet to the sun
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| I’m number one and competition is still none
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| And I’m gonna keep kicking holes in your speakers and pullin’plugs
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| (3rd verse)
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| You know what this is Yeah kid, give up your riches
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| Vicious, visions is not for motion pictures
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| Unstoppable, rollin’witcha sickest clique of niggas
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| Or witcha missus, gettin tropical kisses
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| Makin’faces, anticipatin’places her tongue hits
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| Suck her neck or just peck, better to funk it The EP is in effect from dusk to sunset
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| She want a rim shot all over her drum set
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| Jump the bed rubbin’your head- it’s rough sex
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| 50 ways to keep a love wet
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| Down and up the steps with crazy positions left till she upset
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| Damn, baby, you ain’t come yet?
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| Hell, no- doomstick big as a elbow
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| Gel soft, well blow, give him a minute, he’ll grow
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| And all you gotta do is play the track again
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| I’m ready and revived, baby, back again
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| From the streets below to everything above
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| To the heart that pumps Ra-kim Allah’s blood
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| I swear I kick a hole in your speaker and pull the plug
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| You emcee’s is playing tug-a-war with your tongues
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| From the streets beneath my feet to the sun
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| I’m number one and competition is still none
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| And I’m gonna keep kicking holes in your speakers and pullin’plugs
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| You emcee’s is playing tug-a-war with your tongues
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| Yo!
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| Check it, Yo!
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| I’m faster than leopards running across the vast desert
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| in twenty-two yards per second to catch me to daily delicatessen
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| It takes me thirty minutes to eat’em, forty minutes to digest’em,
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| and fifty minutes for it to pass through my intestines
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| So ask yourself a question?(What question?)
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| Can the Canibus rhyme?
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| Is a fuckin porcupine half swine?
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| No time to make up your mind, you wanna run or die?
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| Clip you while you’re running by, trip you up from behind |
| My rhymes, confuse niggas
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| Like somebody try to gang-bang
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| Wearin’a blue shirt and red pants, throwin’up signs with there left hand
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| Standin’out on the corner of wetlands with a confederate flag for a headband
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| God dam eggplants, niggas getting’me vexed man
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| Cause I’m surrounded by garbage like Fred Sav
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| And I can’t seem to get away from it I dreamed that I stabbed leviathan through the stomach, and ate from it In my past life I slayed hundreds, and in the life before that
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| I played trumpets, to warn you that I was comin'
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| There’s one billion ways to die, and I already tried
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| nine-hundred million nine hundred and ninety nine
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| When I aim and fire my rhymes, like a hundred cannon balls flying
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| Striking you one at a time, in a parallel line
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| While the art of emceeing is steady dieing
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| Canibus and Rakim Allah is still in there prime!
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| From the streets below to everything above
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| To the heart that pumps Ra-kim Allah’s blood
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| I swear I kick a hole in your speaker and pull the plug
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| You emcee’s is playing tug-a-war with your tongues
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| From the streets beneath my feet to the sun
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| I’m number one and competition is still none
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| And I’m gonna keep kicking holes in your speakers and pullin’plugs
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| You emcee’s is playing tug-a-war with your tongues |