| One-two, one-two
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| Mic check, one-two, one-two (You don’t know, that I really love you)
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| Yo, yo, You’ll Never Know
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| Check me out (You don’t know, that I really love you)
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| Yo, yo, yo I love you like how birds love rose petals, Killarmy love full metal
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| I love you like how the Park Hill cats love to pull metal
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| The heat will make ya head whistle loud like a full kettle
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| I come like the Mecca in civilizin
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| The hallway jackal, Chicago Bull bandana
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| I keep police scanners from fishes
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| They try to slash me out like Douton Hanna
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| And blow my spot, yo, I’m not the polka-dot
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| I tote weight, sip Scotch, bust shots, smoke a lot
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| My cousin Billy, he done it silly, used to joke a lot
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| Chased bitches, cut class, got high and stayed broke a lot
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| So when the rent was due he would grab the identical
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| Twin gats and put a fuckin hole in your right ventricle
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| Not sober yet no potent threat, yo, I hold a Tec
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| Show this jet pack on my back, blast like no respect
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| While you bickerin, this flame is still flickerin
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| Then the magnetic attraction to my wisdom keeps you listenin
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| Yo, yo Choco bang that shit!
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| Yeah, yeah (You don’t know, that I really love you)
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| Killa Beez, European
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| Yo, yo, shut up!
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| Eh-yo, my sword so sharp I split the tweeters in ya Genelacs
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| European Killa Beez attack, chk-chk-chk
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| I never smoke blunts, tote weight, nor bust shots
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| But fuck with me I guarantee you’ll get ya neck chopped
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| Be the haunting, dauntin, brothers won’t fuck
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| with The Wu-Tang swordsman, slowly get dropped
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| When my Shaolin sword, swing at Nasty Immigrants with passports
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| To teach Man, Woman and Child, with the sword style
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| God, complete the presence
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| It only takes seconds to chop a nigga head on RZA records
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| But you a worthless effort, follow faster then leopards
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| I can’t wait to return to the fuckin essence
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| Of hip-hop, yo, my shit chop constantly
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| It’s over when my shit drops, son, honestly
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| I love the RZA and the whole Wu Academy
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| For givin me a chance to be what I wanna be (What?)
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| But You will Never Know how much.
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| Do you think this cocked mic will jam or choke?
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| Come on my nigga. |
| Listen yo.
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| Do you think this black mic will cock back, jam or choke?
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| I should stick a long silver hook down your throat
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| And snatch out your vocal, bitch my eyes is black opal
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| Reflectin this 2.2 kilogram Mac that smoke you
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| Firin lightnin, Northern Lights, duck tight and chocolate Philly
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| Lyrics pierce through the ear like the spear of Achilles
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| Iron body Bobby Digital suit, don’t bother to shoot
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| Quicker than Clint when I draw the six shoo'
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| Mortal Kombat whether it’s the blind or the mute
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| Cripple a idiot, dunn, it sounds ridiculous
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| Rapid flow got you petro, my voice echo, echoes
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| Off the Wall Street money we stack like golden geckos
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| Gecko, gecko, let go my Eggo or feel my Eagle
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| 4,5,6 in my hand, I’ve rolled the c-lo
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| Brother knocked the long pound, ounces or straight kilos
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| You know how we go, it’s the Killa Bee show
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| Then I love you like how the pharoah loves Joseph
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| The jewelry of Moses, like a man bendin down on one knee before he proposes
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| The special 8, laid the hammer, about to slay Isaac
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| and the paitence of Daniel in the lion’s den with closed eye lids
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| You’ll Never Know, You’ll Never Know.
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| Yo, yo. |
| here. |
| (You don’t know, that I really love you) |