| Original rude bwoy… on your scene
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| Haha, ha ha ha!
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| Everybody light your blunts, get your smoke on
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| Hahah
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| All you bitches drop your drawers… witcha stinkin ass (stinkin ass)
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| Just roll that weed (roll that weed) just roll that weed (roll that weed)
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| Aiyyo, yes it’s me the MC Grand Royal
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| Spittin that Newcleus I suggest you Jams On It
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| I’m not a role model I cracks the Beck’s bottle
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| Smoke blunts, play pretty MC’s as sex models
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| So inhale exhale what you smell?
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| Derail the frail blind MC off my trail
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| If he use braille, see I never been touched
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| Regulate the street tactics then parlay in the cut
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| Uhhahhh, lay back and hit this while I shit this
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| Flip this, schizo ass flow at long distance
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| And plus I pack nine inches in my britches
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| And keep an incense lit for the funky ass bitches
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| Newark, New Jersey’s on the map, comprende
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| And confrontations start from the blunts and the Reme
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| And if an-y, MC out there wanna test
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| Call my boy Poppa C to put a slug in your vest
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| Check, I walk around the street with the black tec nine
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| By the waistline, kickin the hype shit
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| So turn the volume up a notch
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| And watch the ba-bump, ba-bump, make your speakers pop
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| Check, I walk around the street with the black tec nine
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| By the waistline, kickin the hype shit
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| So turn the volume up a notch
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| And watch the ba-bump, ba-bump, make your speakers pop
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| Owwww, shit I’m just one hip nigga
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| Shit is off the hook when my crew is in the mixture
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| What I deliver, over tracks and rivers
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| Is making your lungs collapse and quiver, it’s the
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| PPP foundation in your ass
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| We be the bomb like that Oklahoma blast
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| Then outlast, a few clowns, sounds
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| Raps, stay bein the mack like Dru Down
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| Ask me what I smoke and I say, «It's the method!»
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| Funk off the hook I leave shit disconnected!
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| What’s the name of that town rollin up trees?
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| Jersey smokin up the bom ba zee!
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| It don’t stop, you better move slowly
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| I make that chest wet and cosy
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| Then dip lowkey like OG’s
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| Then inject that antidote to make you OD
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| You know a better flower get the dough G and show me
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| I bet you I make em more pussy than Josie *meow*
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| And show em How High I am just from the nosebleed (How High)
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| I keep it Naughty By Nature
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| Kick that rugged shit that Maybelline couldn’t make-up, lace up
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| (Yeah Funk Doctor, represent one time for all the blunt smokers)
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| Smokin weed
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| (Yeah yeah, yeah yeah, it’s how we do)
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| Let me hear you go ooooohhhh! |
| (ooooohhhh!)
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| Smoke lalala (smoke lalala)
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| Let me hear you go ooooohhhh! |
| (oooohhhhh!)
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| Smoke lalala (smoke lalala)
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| Funk Doctor, got your ass locked down proper
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| Let me next blast derelicts, binaca
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| I’mma Star at War, smoke blunts, don’t Chew-bacca
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| The head banger boogie for the marijuana shoppers
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| Lace the tracks with stacks of artifacts
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| Make the police arrest me for givin the cardiac
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| Cause I’m the shitter, headbanger non-quitter
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| Twenty blunt a day nigga, Landcruise whipper
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| I represent, commence to beat an instrument
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| Who’s next to get that ass bent ten percent
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| I make you boo pass off your jewels you lose cause
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| (I am so cool… cool… cool…)
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| React opponent, I Got Five On It
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| Met some hoochie, now I got fifty-five on it
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| With two Coronas, I dominate my opponents
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| To the hardcore niggas, keep on! |
| (motherfucker)
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| Check, I walk around the street with the black tec nine
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| By the waistline, kickin the hype shit
|
| So turn the volume up a notch
|
| And watch the ba-bump, ba-bump, make your speakers pop
|
| Check, I walk around the street with the black tec nine
|
| By the waistline, kickin the hype shit
|
| So turn the volume up a notch
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| And watch the ba-bump, ba-bump, make your speakers pop |