| Imagine this was the wild west, what you hearin' is cinematic
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| This is graphic, take ten paces and let this nigga have it
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| This is rapping, don’t get emotional with it
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| Rap is competitive, so I’m just evokin' the spirits, aight
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| Back to the story line, the year’s about '49
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| The quickest gun in the game, I ain’t run the forty time
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| «Bartender, let me get a Bourbon on the rocks fast
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| Matter fact, fuck that, pass the bottle and shot glass»
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| A shot blast, one in the ceiling, funniest feelin'
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| I turned around, five niggas standin', one of 'em grillin'
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| He said, «Is there a Ransom in the saloon currently?
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| And if there is, man up motherfucker, and come with me»
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| I took another shot of my Bourbon, holdin' my nerves in
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| I stood up and said, «Who's askin'? |
| Who’s it concernin'?»
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| His said his name was Meek Mill, got a sleek build
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| And a street feel, no tellin' how many rappers that he killed
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| So be still, hand on my weapon, watchin' his movements
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| He said, «If you the best nigga spittin', nigga then prove it»
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| A 12 o’clock showdown
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| Instead of bullets, we usin' words, verbs and pronouns
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| It’s 'bout to go down
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| Looked him in his eyes and said, his killer’s standin' in front of him
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| I took my ten steps, then spit a scripture to punish him
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| Stumbled him, the crowd was stunned, fell right in front of them
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| I crumbled him in front of his woman, I had to humble him
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| Hold up, I think I got hit, ran to the restroom
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| A ill verse right through my shoulder, it’s just a flesh wound
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| Walked out, the crowd hysterical, you done did it now
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| He was part of J. Cole’s posse, wait 'til he gets to town
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| Damn, he had a reputation for breakin' MC’s down 'til they achin'
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| I’m pacin', patiently waitin'
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| Fuck it, let’s get it shakin', I see that nigga ridin' up
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| Tall kid, light skin swag with his hair knotted up
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| I shot him up, fuck all the talkin', no time to chop it up
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| He stood tall, I guess these verses just wasn’t hot enough
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| Sent somethin' back that was burnin' like black whiskey
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| When that hit me, I knew the shit was just that risky
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| React quickly, spit a verse from the old days
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| When I said I had to ride on a nigga like road rage
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| No way has he survived that, let him try that
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| Had to lie back, right where he stood is where he died at
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| Bruise, battered and scarred, these niggas battlin' hard
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| Cross two off the list, the last name was Lamar
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| Some called him K. Dot, he a great shot
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| Him and Jay Rock, he a Top Dawg so I’m after they spot
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| Still around high noon, the whole crowd thinkin' I’m doomed
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| They takin' bets, they sayin' I’ma die soon
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| Apply pressure to these five wounds, a top five goon
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| And when I’m dead, bury me in my tomb with all of my tunes
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| Lamar got it in for me, either I’m livin' like a king
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| Or I’m dyin' in infamy, I just want what is meant for me
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| The kid got intensity, plus he sick with it mentally
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| I orchestrate death like the reaper playin' a symphony
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| They tryin' to make sense of me, I’m built with a metal type density
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| So if it get physical, you’ll remember me
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| Hold up, Lamar walked in, it’s him and four men
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| He had a small grin, he must thinkin' Duffle ain’t goin' all in
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| The whole bar cleared out, somebody cheered out
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| «Kill him Lamar!», threw his beer out, and then he peeled out
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| It’s safe to say that he’s the favorite, he started blazin'
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| Shit was amazin', I shot 16, but it only grazed him
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| His intellect saved me, that somethin' you can account for
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| But me, I don’t do the right things just like a southpaw
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| I count four, shots to his stomach, I’m all about war
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| I said, «Look, I shook up the world and did it without y’all»
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| Stood over his body, my finger glued to the trigger
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| He said, «If it was anyone, glad it was you my nigga»
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| Damn, I hate that you had to go
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| I cocked back and sent a hot verse right through his skull, BANG! |