| Hahha
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| Now everytime I grab the mic I always start shit up Sharper than your double-edger, watch me cough shit up Live and direct, respect it to the underground connect
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| Pah! |
| I’m wreckin any MC you select
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| Yo E, load me in your gun, light the flares
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| Give me forty-eight bars, and I go out like gays at Billy Bear
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| Wear and tear, I’m wreckin for the Bricks is where
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| Jump in my way and get your body splattered everywhere
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| Conjunction junction what’s your function
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| It’s that nigga who’s so swift I could lose a compass
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| Step into jams, with seven niggaz in a Land
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| And forty motherfuckers in some fucked up caravan
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| Drop the farenheight back down to zero
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| Bring Heat to the streets like I’m Pacino and DeNiro
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| Raw dog material, grand imperial
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| Talk to my shotty nigga, my ears ain’t hearin you
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| So take heed to what I’m saying
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| Cause tonight’s the night, and me and my nuccas ain’t playing
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| Now do I look crazy? |
| Deranged, maybe?
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| You shot first, your glock burst, but it graze me Now time for lyrics, put up your guns
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| And watch me get this shit hoppin like the West was won
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| Got that lyrical chicken feed, for all chicken heads
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| Crowd your Rap City committee, like I’m
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| Most bigger than them Melendez brothers
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| You need Cochran when you’re fuckin with Judge Red
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| Put your fingers up if you love hash and cash
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| I been that way since Ike Turner was kickin Tina ass
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| Hookers ridin dick, like I’m a motorcycle
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| You wanna shine bitch? |
| Let me simonize you
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| I make sure your vision blur, till you don’t know what occurred
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| Until I black out every nerver
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| Foul women get served as chicken head hors d’ouerves
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| I drop your tops like your heads was convertibles!
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| Hah, if you still look up in the sky I’m still high
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| All the way live like Lakeside
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| Wann die? |
| E (whattup son), you got this beat pumpin
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| The way I feel niggaz ain’t leave until they up in somethin
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| Pack my dutch like the niggaz in the county
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| Dayrooms, stay tuned, for Doc Illuminati
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| Up around them big butt freaks is where you find me
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| (Martini and Rossi, Asti Spumante)
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| So take heed to what I’m saying
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| Cause tonight’s the night, and me and my nuccas ain’t playing
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| To my people in the back, if you’re not the wack, say
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| Don’t stop, the body rock
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| To my people in the front, if you’re tokin on blunts, say
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| Don’t stop, the body rock… aoowwwwwowwwww
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| I’m too strong for you to listen
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| I started spittin, that’s why the brick niggaz be lickin
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| They stay on magazine written equipments
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| And lyrics I got em by the shipment, where your bitch went
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| I’m smokin leaky out the Lec-y, fatal
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| My Squad steps with the ultimatum, true dat
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| My muzak, move crowds, like down the hill moved crack
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| For those who stepped on toes, I want my shoes back
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| Buddy, bringin money to your girl
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| for your little daughter like I’m Cutty
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| Twenty dollars a pop to dub me, I bug G, quote it I see you notice how I leave microphones corroded
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| Hahahahaha, your staff not up to par
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| You raw, you’re more like Zsa Zsa Gabor
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| Call deep niggaz, keep the gas pedal floored
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| And I pump the funk to keep a room and board |