| Tick tick tick. |
| yeah. |
| 5'9 uhh
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| Yo.
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| I’m the verbal-spit Smith Wesson, I unload
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| with sick spit that quick wick to split a split-second
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| Bomb with a lit wick expression
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| You here a tick tick then you testin.
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| My saliva and spit can split thread into fiber and bits
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| So trust me, I’m as live as it gets
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| Everybody claimin they the best and head the throne
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| since B.I.G is gone, if you ask me, they Dead Wrong
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| My flow is hotter than the flash from the click
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| When the hammer slaps the bullet on the ass from the clip
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| You wind up in a room full of my dawgs
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| I’ll have you feeling like a fire hydrant in a room full of dogs
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| So come, come now, get pissed on, shitted on Tough talk turns to, Can’t we all just get along
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| You get blazed when the mic’s off, shot when it’s on You probably ducked when they laid the gun shot in your song
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| My gun strrr-utters when it speaks to you
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| Utter shit to repeat to you
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| Nothing to clip, then give a speech to you
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| Me and Premier, we kind of the same in ways
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| We both speak with our hands in dangerous ways
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| Rap now is a circus of clowns
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| A whole lot of lip from clicks I’ll probably rap circles around
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| I’m the next best to reach a peak formerly known
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| as the best keep secret, I guess that I just leaped it it gets
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| It gets tragic like the havoc of a nuclear bomb →Guru*}
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| Boom. |
| bam, God DAMN!
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| Royce 5−9
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| I’m a motherfucking star, I don’t battle no mo'
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| I provide the the gun clapping around of applause after ya show
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| We can go toe to toe cause they calling you hot
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| Stepping around all your punches like that’s all you got?
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| Everyday I’m meeting somebody and all of they peeps
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| Quick to shake a nigga’s hand and show me all of they teeth
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| And these bitches I be patting they asses
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| They be all dumb and googly-eyed lookin at me, battin they lashes
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| Rappers think Detroit niggaz not as down as them
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| Or since I’m down with Slim that I sound like him
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| Quick to judge me and tell me that my hook might sell
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| and say faggot shit to me like I look like L My advice quit talking it’s over
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| I was knocking niggaz out while you were knocking sticks off they shoulders
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| I got dirt done in the past, I know y’all sweat
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| I got regrets older than some of you so called vets
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| niggaz say I found God with the flow
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| Bring the police to the studio and bring the bomb squad to the show
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| Ain’t a nigga touching mines
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| When you listen to my shit you don’t chew, you don’t breathe,
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| you don’t miss a fucking line
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| Every time I spit, I tick to show you it’s hot
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| Leave me in the deck too long I blow up your box
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| BOOM!
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| Boom. |
| bam, God — DAMN!
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| Royce 5−9
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| Boom. |
| bam, God — DAMN!
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| Royce 5−9
|
| Boom. |
| bam, God — DAMN!
|
| Royce 5−9
|
| Boom. |
| bam, God God — DAMN!
|
| Royce 5−9 |