| Run them jewels fast, run them, run them jewels fast
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| Run them, run them, r-run them, run them, fuck the slow mo
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| Fashion slave, you protestin' to get in a fuckin' look book
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| Everything I scribble’s like The Anarchist Cookbook
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| (Look good, posing in a centerfold of Crook Book)
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| Black on black on black with a ski mask, that is my crook look
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| How you like my stylin', bruh? |
| Ain’t nobody stylin', bruh
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| 'Bout to turn this mothafucka up like Riker’s Island, bruh
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| Where my thuggers and my cripples and my bloodles and my brothers?
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| When you niggas gon' unite and kill the police, mothafuckas?
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| Or take over a jail, give those COs hell
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| The burnin' of the sulfur, God damn I love the smell
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| Like it’s a pillow torchin', where the fuck the warden?
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| And when you find him, we don’t kill him, we just waterboard him
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| We killin' 'em for freedom cause they tortured us for boredom
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| And even if some good ones die, fuck it, the Lord’ll sort 'em
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| We out of order, your honor, you’re out of order
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| This whole court is unimportant, you fuckers are walkin' corpses
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| I’m a flip wig synonym, livin' within distortion
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| I’ll bite into a cyanide molar before you whores win
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| I’m a New Yorkian, I fuck for the jump
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| I wear my Yankee so tilted I actually walk with a hunch
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| Look at Mikey, I think he likey, we are sinister sons
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| (Aye, we the type to beat the preacher with a grin and a gun)
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| Run them jewels fast, run them, run them jewels fast
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| Run them, run them, r-run them, r-run them, run them, r-run them
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| Run them jewels fast, run them, run them jewels fast
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| Run them, run them, r-run them, r-run them, run them, r-run them
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| A wise man once said, («We all dead, fuck it»)
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| Just spit it disgusting youngin', and hold your nuts while you’re gunnin'
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| I listened, tatted a sentence on my dick last summer
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| Now I’ll never get that phrase off my brain, it’s no wonder
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| I’m here to buy hearts, I got hundreds, honey
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| The cheaper the parts, the better buy for the money
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| I’m trained in vagina whisperin', glistenin'
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| Waitin' for their christenin', I know the neighbors can’t help but listen in
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| A dirty boy who come down on a side of dissonance
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| I can’t even relax without sirens off in the distances
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| Not shittin' you, little buddy, this fuckin' island’s a prison
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| The only silence I have is an act of conjugal visitin'
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| My solitary condition’s preventin' conjugal visits
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| Go mane and missin' my misses, they keepin' me from my children
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| Conditions create a villain, the villain is givin' vision
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| The vision becomes a vow to seek vengeance on all the vicious
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| Liars and politicians, profiteers of the prisons
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| The forehead engravers, enslavers of men and women
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| Includin' members of clergy that rule on you through religion
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| (So strippin' kids to the nude and then tell 'em God’ll forgive 'em)
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| It’s De La on the cut, liftin' 6 on your stitchy crew
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| I’m miles ahead of you, you can sip my bitches brew
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| My battle status is burnin' mansions from Dallas to Malibu
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| Check my résumé, your residence is residue
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| Call her a skin job and my honey dip’ll backflip for you
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| You playin', God your eye sockets, she gon' rip in two
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| We sick of bleedin' out a trace, spray a victim, you
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| Done dyin', Phillip AK Dickin' you
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| With clips in the bottom, we dippin' from Gotham
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| Yes eclipsed by the shadows, a dark dance to the coffin
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| I’m a fellow with melanin, suspect of a felony
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| Ripped like Rakim Allah, feds is checkin' my melody
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| Yes aggressively tested we’ll bump stretchers and penalties
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| Dump cases with face and the cop pleas when we seizing a pump
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| With reason to dump on you global grand dragons
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| Still pilin' fast, plus Afghani toe taggin'
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| Now they trackin' me and we bustin' back, see
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| The only thing that close quicker than our caskets be the factories |