| Damn
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| Ladies. |
| and gentlemen
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| I got a secret
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| Somebody told me yo’ass stink!
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| Don’t blame me!
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| Hah, what, huh.
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| Ah, one two three four
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| Huh, huh, yo Huh, yo yo yo yo yo yo
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| (c'mere baby)
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| Yo, yo yo, yo yo, yo Yo huh
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| Yeah yi-yeah, these metaphors be broad
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| Take the Shanks out of Shaw Redemption and hold it to your jaw
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| Climb aboard, jump out the ninety-ninth floor
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| That bitch on the salt box, know when I rain I pour
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| Shoot up the Mardi Gras with double chrome forty-fours
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| Full up plates, cause someone I’m ready to take yours!
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| Jungle music got my mind and body stimulatin
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| Hyperventilatin, you’re talk of the town like date rapin
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| Call me the Doc-casian Spot, The Beatles
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| Malfunction in the SL Board without the EQ
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| Fuck fuck fuck bitch I’ll bust a nut all over that gut
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| Buck buck buck souflee you lay you then I’m hittin that clutch
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| in da black truck, what, fuck yo’back up My dubs be filled with dust when I bust you definitely feel
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| the rapture. |
| ha ha. |
| HA HAH. |
| HA HAH!
|
| Aiyyo! |
| Feel what I feel, see what I see son
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| Break your neck -- secretly blown, talico style Doc
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| Trace the sketch -- according to verbal recording hot
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| Bricks underground detox fuck up farm crops
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| Yo beautiful! |
| Cut the cabbage and sell it as pharmeceuticals
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| I react — the baddest juvenile bite off his cuticles
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| I’m stone, to the bone, flip poems that roam further
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| I serve the murder then beef it to ham-burger
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| Knowin god damn well that’s hard to spit
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| Fans call me mix tape arsonist, marvelous, in the hood
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| Everyday, wanna star? |
| Check an astrologist
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| Fuck fuck fuck bitch I’ll bust a nut all over that gut
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| Buck buck buck souflee you lay you then I’m hittin that clutch
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| You know, papi chulo with the fucked up grammar
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| So much spanish ass, niggaz think I own Copa Cabana
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| Shot up Santa, got more tools than, Hanna Barbera, check it The clues I left was hard for cops to Etch-a-Sketch it Serial killer that tracks pussy in every borough
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| Kidnap ya, tie ya down, drug ya, kiss the girls
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| Klack automatics no matter the pressure the static (KLACK)
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| I blow you by two miles, cut my lights and hit the hazards
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| Fatal, duckin from pussy police in LeSables
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| Biggest thing since getting earrings pierced in your navel
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| High, Funk Doc, Roni Size keep the herb twistin
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| And now get the Ampegs real hot like jerk chicken
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| Ha ha. |
| alright one more time.
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| (c'mere baby) |