| Ha, ha ha ha ha
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| Back again, ha, ha ha ha ha
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| Rasco, solo, Fanatik, check it
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| Yo, it’s flipside and Rasco here to let 'em know
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| If niggas don’t cooperate gotta let 'em go
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| Get in the race and stop runnin' at a snails' pace
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| And sour milk has left my mouth wit' a bitter taste
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| They shot callin', black ballin' 'til the last sec
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| No other choice but to cut these niggas last check
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| Give me respect 'cuz I’ve been comin' up these last years
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| The only car on the road flossin' nine gears
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| 'Cuz I arrive and overdrive, set to rip it live
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| And I’ll be rippin' this shit when I’m fifty-five
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| Dead stinkin', Abe Lincoln, nigga what you thinking'?
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| You better smoke another blunt and continue drinkin'
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| A cloudy brain, train tracks, but there’s no train
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| And now you watch me skyrocket in my own plane
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| Never the same and nobody else can do it better
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| Three to the third is the word, got the triple-header
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| So you better, get yo ass a sweater
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| Breakin' these fools down to the last letter
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| Whatever… that you clowns wanna do
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| Make sure that you got the Superdome crew
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| The unassisted, it’s the unassisted
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| Rasco’s on the mic, it’s the unassisted
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| You blacklisted, yo, it’s the unassisted
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| Rasco’s on the mic, it’s the unassisted
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| So what’s next? |
| Not these emcees that’s totin' text
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| Glitz and gram better scram down his ???
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| That style’s played and more washed up than Cascade
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| And it’s been years since I broke out my last fade
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| The bald-headed, non-dreded, get that ass wetted
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| These brothers flashed on the Ras but I didn’t sweat it
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| Remain calm, rippin' mics every single night
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| I’m on the scene, makin' green 'cuz the single’s tight
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| Fuck you fools that’s believing' in your own hype
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| 'Cuz I’m the type that be servin' up the long pipe
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| I smell a scent, gettin' bent, pockets full of lint
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| You think you large 'cuz these people gave you fine print?
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| But magazines ain’t the thing, nigga, get it straight
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| Bringin' them styles that got 'em hooked on like fish bait
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| You show me how, now it’s wild, where my niggas at?
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| But when you step up to the plate better bring it fat
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| Mass produced, I got juice microphone skill
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| Me and my man Big Rob 'bout to seal deals
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| Run of the mill, dime a dozen 'cuz you wack, cousin
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| Whose reviews? |
| Better cut me some slack, cousin
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| Playin' me close, heads is flown at the flagpost
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| At half-staff you done stepped on the wrong path
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| You hear the whistle of the missile comin' full speed
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| It’s hip hop, to the core I’m the full breed
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| What’s the reason all these fools wanna flash out?
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| Sick of the drama, now it’s time to get my ass out
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| Layin' it down nice and clean on these white sheets
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| And quick to break a nigga down over fat beats
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| Better retreat 'cuz I’m comin' wit' the cavalry
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| Only intent is just to increase the salary
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| These dollar signs in my mind, gotta drop a rhyme
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| Ready to shine, baby, this year’s prime time
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| So what I’m sayin', won’t be no delayin'
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| Better head the word, nigga, I don’t be playin'
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| So start prayin' like you lookin' for a miracle
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| Me with no lyrics, baby, that there’s hysterical
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| 2nd Ending: Rasco's on the mic, don’t get it twisted
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| Scratched:"I would say he’s nice. Every cut he makes is so precise." |
| -MC
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| Shan |